Without words

poetry

The sun sets quickly as it does in the South, trailed by a sophisticated tapestry of colors. 

Shadows of birds flutter over the ever moving water staining its shimmery surface violet. 

The wild beach undergoes continuous transformation at sunset, when the high tide creates new currents and refreshes salt water ponds, shapes sand dunes and laps against the sculptural driftwood decorating the shores. 

People and dogs wander slowly, checking out sandcastles or colorful shells, and their footsteps are muffled by the powdery sand. 

It is warm at sunset, and quiet, a peace without words heralding good tidings for the young year. 

I step barefoot through the fast moving water the tide rushed into the salt ponds, watching tall legged birds prepare for the night.

They move towards me rather than away, I'm guessing because they accepted people as a weird but tolerable component of their environment. 

The water sweeps rhythmically across the sand with a slow deep sound like the beating of a heart.