Anna Blake Godbout
Notes from the Ridge
Giving the Beach Back to the Tourists
August brings forth the winding down of summer days and nights. Soon Nature’s landscape will begin slow quiet changes often without notice. Before the calendar rolls in September, I give you a poem of quiet summer reflection. A moment in time when evening settles in and memories are held dear…..
Midnight slips out of translucent skies,
my salty skin is whitewashed with splashes of light. Beads of sweat trickle between white breasts moonlight arouses my calm center as we lie on a bed of sand and shell. Tied loosely to moorings, far off fishing boats bobble and creak. The Atlantic murmurs, channel markers clang under a spill of silver stars. Quivering beneath the elegant canopy, I reveal myself to bursts of dream light, my flesh rhyming with yours. The whimsical tides jump and play with the gulls; breezes swish through sea oats and beach grass. Your fragrance surges among temperamental pleasures, summons the waves to crest again and again. In the lavender-streaked dawn, we search the beach for tossed undergarments, and washed up treasures before tourists stomp on sun bleached boardwalks in their cavalier march towards the sea.
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