Low sun behind, long shadows ahead,

with our backs to the wind we moved easy,

flat golden sand paving each supported step.

A shimmer of water not reclaimed, shining

to our eyes and beyond a November sky

of pale blue and soft cloud. Waves roar.

To stride away from the light is to feel free,

despite the familiar silhouette just ahead,

no needing to endlessly squint to see clear.

Yet all journeys require a coming home,

turning to face the relentless unseen gusts,

now the shadow must follow not lead.

Back past the already decaying footprints,

two sets of boots today with the promise

four tomorrow. The stooping sun dazzles.

The construction of a previous way of living

now over. Little left in this version but await

the new arrivals and their test of foundation.

What of those children that still want to build

their sandcastles, are they ready to calm

and be happy watching others build theirs?

We walk on, like those gone before, the path

both known yet not. This broad golden canvas

today’s space for creation’s ongoing masterpiece.