The usual rainbow of bright umbrellas, 
beach towels, and plastic shovels has faded.
Left behind is the blue-gray
and khaki of the sea and sand.

Tourists and sunbathers have been replaced
by fishermen and locals, abandoning
their guitars on the front porch swing
and shrimp on the stove
to venture out 
and claim their bit of invaded coastline 
for one summer day.

In clam-diggers and a sweater,
I sit listening to the ocean and quiet radio
playing at the forsaken cabana 
a few meters down the beach.
The owner, sunburned and content, watches
the sea-foam roll in from the breaking waves,
feeling anew the force
that drew him here so long ago.

© 2005 by Amber Shields. All rights reserved.