The sea was drowsy when I came to see
what hour the sun remembered to arise.
The gulls were late – or maybe it was me,
adrift beneath a too-familiar sky.
The boardwalk sighed; the fudge shop stayed asleep.
One barefoot jogger vanished in the mist.
The tide was low, the dunes were buried deep,
and time itself felt slightly… more unzipped.
A plastic pail still held last summer’s dream.
The lifeguard stand looked haunted in the shade.
I thought I saw a whisper in the stream –
a phantom wave from all the years we played.
So clocks can change – let hours rearrange –
but shorelines speak in rhythms time can’t change.
🕰️ Bonus Reflection:
Some say time is a human invention.
We say: so are poems, and we still believe in those.
So here’s to the slow Sunday mornings, the early sunsets, and the timeless tide that pays no mind to what the clocks are doing inland.
By The Sandbar Society