beach, September 7th

Last days of summer; the sky the blue of more realistic expectations and the air smelling just slightly threatening. The people out get their enjoyment with a more grim cast, sucking the last goddamn bit the season has to offer even as their shadows lenghten. The dunes are sparsely peopled now, we cling to the sand against September's wind even as we are bathed in August's sun. And the dunes are thrown into sharp relief. And the water is empty of boats. And the gulls have moved in, surprised and annoyed at finding a human population. There is a man in front of me swathed in a blanket, wearing a long-sleeve shirt, yet he is gazing at the sun like a lover reunited. The gulls take us as an affront, one moves closer to me pointing its beak with indignation.