The gulls cry softer now – their echoes thin,
As tides sweep summer’s laughter out to sea.
The boardwalk slumbers, sand turns cold and clean,
And autumn drifts its amber elegy.
The dunes wear crowns of brittle, golden flame,
Each leaf a whisper from a vanished tree.
They gather on the tide like thoughts untamed,
Then scatter, wild and weightless, endlessly.
No suntan oil, no radios remain,
Just wind that smells of cedar, salt, and time.
The shore remembers joy the way we pain –
As something fleeting, beautiful, sublime.
So let the leaves fall where the waves once played;
Even endings look holy in this shade. 🍁🌊
— By The Sandbar Society