
How much I'd pay to sit at the beach right now.
In the quiet of the night,
to listen to the waves splash against the pier,
the never-ending drum roll of sea to drown out its predecessor,
sounds of sand beating each other,
twirling of water slowly,
as they wind up more shells against the occasional pebble,
whistling of small tides when they slap each other with the friendliest gesture,
like a whirlpool beckoning "join in the fun".
And then it happens soon,
the water slowly drifting away from the feet,
drying out the sand like the mother gently dabbing water from her child,
torrents of salty fluids,
giving way to the unforgiving rocks,
the random seaweed draped across them,
like a babe enjoying her sun tan.
The water still drifts at the far end,
slapping each other silly,
like children fooling around,
not having to care for their tomorrows,
in the quiet of the night.
How much I'd pay to sit at the beach right now.