Walking In The Wind

As the sand swarms about our feet,

And little grains break away

Biting at the skin, the face

And whatever is exposed,

From beneath the layers,

From within;

Bitten, biting

Like the sea at our toes.

We crouch down, inside

The divot on the dunes,

You shiver the cold north sea

From your skin, catching our breath,

And getting a taste for your surroundings.

I lie in the silence of this;

The exposed cave,

And flat on my back I feel

The warmth and peace,

The wild nothing of Autumn,

As it all comes and goes,

But nothing stays,

Nothing sticks in the change.

With the last harvest in

It's away with the hoes.

The clouds rush by;

Late to rain somewhere else today,

And the brisk sun-filled morning,

Soon gives way, to the grey hue

Of the early afternoon.

The cold, distant days have arrived,

Forcing their way to the front;

Charging on the austru:

The terminal breath of Summer.

We pick ourselves up

From this borrowed time,

Heading back to where the sun died.

Hugging close to the soiled,

Clay stained dunes, and land-slip cliffs,

We avoid the armies of sand

Hunting for a foe, running themselves into the waters.

The wind screams at us,

The gull carcasses crunch underfoot;

And for that time, right there,

We were a part of this world.