Every morning in an April week
I walk the beach in Kitty Hawk,
rarely seeing other persons,
just gulls and terns who grudgingly
waddle aside as I pass.
The hard-green waves,
tamped down by cold air,
shudder onto the beach,
which shingles upward
in shades of beige and brown,
streaked by a line of dark-earth sand
and a scatter ribbon of shells and pebbles.
On the dune where shore meets land
a gap-toothed string of houses,
stretches to indistinction.
I always pause in front of
one badly weathered cottage.
Unlike its neighbors it allowed itself
just two small water view windows,
as if watching the ocean from inside
In years of walks
I’ve never seen anyone
sitting on the house-wide porch
or perched on the cool sand before it.
We share our solitary moment,
and the comfort of isolation.
Ed Ahern resumed writing after forty odd years in foreign intelligence and international sales. He’s had over two hundred stories and poems published so far, and five books. Ed works the other side of writing at Bewildering Stories, where he sits on the review board and manages a posse of four review editors. https://twitter.com/bottomstripper https://www.facebook.com/EdAhern73/?ref=bookmarks