I was on the beach at Cordova Bay
It was afternoon, a little late in the day
I sat alone on a log, watching the sea,
time was about a quarter to three.
Four-year old granddaughter Amy, who I’d brought along
was skipping and jumping and humming a song.
The tide was on the ebb and barely a ripple in sight
A lone heron in the water stood still, ready for flight
The long legs moved slowly, the head remained still
but the sharp eyes searched sharply for signs of a meal
The peaceful motion of small waves did abound
as they approached the shore with a soft lapping sound.
The gulls were there but strangely so quiet,
they seemed only concerned with obtaining their diet.
Not a breath of wind stirred in the nearby trees
Clouds, sea and sand appeared only to please
I watch Amy playing on the flat, wet sand
as she busily digs and then waves her hand
to let me know that she is happy and fine
and really enjoying the beach at this time
There is a haze that softens the scene.
and boat engines growl abaft my beam
I go for a stroll and in the sand leave the marks
of the soles of my shoes and a dog barks
The tide is now flowing quite swiftly toward land
and the driftwood logs that lie in the sand,
high and dry, so still as if in stone cast
the sea will soon reach them and then sweep past
I call to Amy, “Five minutes, then we must go,”
She answers, “Coming Grandad” as she turns to throw
a last rock in the sea, and then put some more in her pail
to take home to Grandma, always without fail
Then speedily she runs and grabs hold of my hand
We leave, but look back, at the clean, washed sand.
She looks to the West and into the sun,
takes my hand, and says, “Grandad wasn’t that fun?”
(Many years have passed since this pleasant time
hard it is to realize that Amy has now passed age 9)
~ E Hipsey
