Whitstable beach, Kent

Vicky Newham

The sea’s sounds soothe like balm for the soul:
Waves rise and fall hypnotically,
And sweep onto the shoreline and back out again,
Like large licks of the sand whose imprint fades quickly
Until the next ones swoops in.
Time appears altered, slowed somehow,
Calm and still, an oasis.
Natural vegetation, no hotdog sellers,
A community, a place, from a bygone era.
Squawking seagulls circle,
Flying first in formation, then at angles.
Light reflects off the water like a gleaming mirror,
Casting an ice-like sheen onto the world above.
Wisps of hair flap like kites in the blustery breeze.
Children’s squeals and dogs’ barks muted in the wind.
Siblings and friends collect crabs and oysters
Their tanned, glowing cheeks a picture of health.
Families, groups, couples gather to watch the sun set,
Locals and visitors, drawn day and night, like magnets,
To this simple seaside scene, a magical place,

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