come for a walk

Dec
2013
30

posted by on beach, family, far south new south wales, outside

3 comments

supper has been cooked and shared :: the beautiful summer light still softly dusts the sky :: a salty mist slowly slips in across the bay, laying its folds lightly over mountains, forests and beach ::

Come for a walk …

arriving the beach lowering sun running in and out footsteps getting darker footsteps with little holes bubbles feather grains of sand tumble weed clouds bird tracks bird with the red beak back the other way our own lamp post

a narrow sandy track takes us through a small forest of gums, she-oaks, tea trees, coastal grasses and softly twittering birds that are readying themselves for bed :: suddenly the forest parts, the stillness is broken, and there before us is the roaring swell of the bay, curving round to the small village of Pambula ::  the sun behind me glows fiercely, turning the forest we’ve just left into an inky black silhouette  :: a funny little gull trots after the departing waves, searching the wet sand for his supper, then, as the waves return, he turns smartly and bustles back towards the dry sand, keeping his toesies dry, back and forth and back and forth he goes until, as we draw closer, he elegantly, slowly, lifts his wings and hovers just out of our reach ::  following his footsteps :: but stopping all along to observe and enjoy – such as the little air holes in the buoyant, wet sand that seem to breath in and out – who is living down there? :: then, lost in thought, the waves rush back in and my feet and skirt are wet ::  not many leftovers on this beach – a pelican’s feather, a small shell nestling countable grains of sand, the marvellous little tumble weeds (I’ve no idea what they’re really called) that flitter wildly along the sand,  spinning up and down and round and round until the wind dies, a small hillock in the sand snags them, or a wave mires them in sogginess ::  the sun slides ever lower ::  we turn back for home, a little trail of claw prints leading us on :: they belong to this beauty – a sooty oyster catcher – he’s joined the funny gull for supper ::  our cliffs, still touched with a hint of the sun’s pinky warmth, the blunt head of which always reminds me of the whales that sail these waters, their babes tucked in beside them :: finally, our beachy version of Narnia’s lamp post – the dog off leash sign marking the path that will take us back through the forest, back home ::

3 comments

  1. Liz Tamiso
  2. Margaret

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