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McClure’s Beach

I miss the ocean.  I woke up this morning longing to walk barefoot in cold, wet sand as the wind whips around me and the surf rushes in to caress my ankles; reminding me of where I came from, and where all things eventually return.

For more than fifty years I lived within an hour of the sea.  Fate (economics really) has brought me to live here at the foot of these huge mountains a thousand miles from any beach.  They are beautiful, fierce, ancient; but I miss the sea.

There is one place in particular (McClure’s Beach) that is very special to me.  It is a tiny, isolated arc of sand between high cliffs and huge rocks that jut out into the surf.  For years I made a point to be there at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

I wrote this poem about that experience.

Sea Brides

On dark and roaring midnights when clouds obscure the moon
and mists rise from the breakers, spilling up across the sand,
filling valleys with their softness, dissolving wind-carved contours;

When the beaches lie abandoned by the sun-addicted people
then the cliffs throw off their stillness; they slip down into the surf,
and, renewing ancient marriage, dance a wedding with the waves.


4 Responses

  1. Your words paint a perfect picture. Maybe it’s that word, “ancient.” There is something magical and mystical about it.

  2. beautiful!

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