Some mark seasons by leaves turning color
or snow on the ground, sunburns and fresh flower bouquets.
Beacons beach has its season too, but in a subtle way.
Summer smells of hot sand and crisp, salty waves, the beach is sprinkled with laughter and board wax. Late fall, the lifeguard stand is hauled away and the little dogs appear for evening walks with their owners. The wind turns cool.
Come winter, the sky takes over and the ocean pulls up her beach, leaving rocks under foot and debris on the shore.
Each winter eve I would return to see the painted sky and also find a freshly stacked pile of driftwood and bamboo. A welcoming bond fire for some lost soul, should they need it during the night. Each day, it would be scattered by the waves then reconstructed by surfers, children, God… I’m not sure who, but I do know it was a welcoming site.
Spring has come, and will soon be gone, and the warm winds of summer are rolling in, but lest not forget the winter. She held a beauty of her own.