A fair breeze whips up the beige granules
Carrying them
Past rusted deckchairs and soiled picnic blankets.
Bins thronged with the souvenirs of an evening spent by young wolves howling on the shore.
The decked overpass extending to the finger tip of the vast expanse of blue and
Immersing through the dense Lincoln green marsh, inhabited by a once secret delicacy –
The poor man’s asparagus.
A Forsaken boat is suffocating on a no mans land, yearning to fulfil its purpose.
And the horizon hides – it is barley seen with the naked eye
Where the sky ends and the sea begins.
Until the array of khaki green and turquoise appear to sway, wrinkling as the breeze once again sweeps across the strand.