The beach drifts as footprints sink into crisp moulds;
heavy boots gone before.
With water receding we walk to white windy mills -
turning three strong arms in autumn breeze;
regimented in rows, waving cheerful circles to land,
marked by rust and raw decay;
steel stately, once satisfying, dismantling the decent past;
rotting skeletons leaning, nodding, bowing to the future.
Between two worlds we strode, in the reflection of what was,
fading into a new rhythm of now.
Scouring through golden grains, flicking washed rocks and sunken shells,
heads bowed, eyes squinting;
... thoughts suspending in the confusion of today.