It’s the end of April, winter’s signs are just fading
And we’ve gone to the seafront, walking along the promenade.
To gaze at the murky brown winter’s-end ocean…
Stepping down onto the shingle,
The large pebbles uncomfortable on my feet.
In the distance
I see plumes of cooking-smoke.
Billowing from metal grates on the ground,
People gathered around them.
My sister goes to throw a stone
Into the murky brown winter’s-end ocean.
The pebbles grow smaller, easier to walk on.
My parents continue to slowly stroll,
Taking in that sea air that I can’t smell.
I wander ahead, stepping up onto the promenade,
And I wait for for my parents
As they keep gazing at the murky brown winter’s-end ocean.
We traverse the promenade,
Stepping down onto the pebbles,
Once again large and uncomfortable.
So I stay on the concrete,
Sidling along, on the space between the railing and the beach.
And soon I come across a bench,
So I sit and listen to the seagulls
Crooning their grating song
To the shingle crunching and scraping underfoot.
Not that it means anything.
And soon my family sit with me
As I listen to the waves
Of the murky brown winter’s-end ocean.
Soon, my father stands up, smiling at us
And we make to leave.
Walking back up the seafront,
To our blue Toyota,
Which takes us back home,
Away from the pebbles, the gulls,
And away from the murky brown winter’s-end ocean.