by Lucy Hunter

Created on: December 19, 2007

SUMMER, LATE
Across the long horizon flow the tan dunes,
Sprinkled heavily with tall grasses waving at the green amongst them,
shimmering golden as the sun bleaches out.
Dry wind blows steadily, from the south, missing dips
behind which lie children giggling
in their hiding place.
Hot sand. Toes dig deep to reach the soothing cool.
Sand, blown in a riveted stream down the dunes,
whispers promises too low to hear,
lulling nonetheless.
Prickly grass stickers surprise feet bottoms;
sweet wild strawberries are worth the risk.
Lying against dunes, the warm sand heats backs and arms,
legs settled in an under layer, topped with shifting sand.
The wind continuously runs grains down the dunes
etching a form. Imprint begins to dissolve as soon as it is free,
edges smoothing, winding down as faded bottle glass
tossed by the salty sea.

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