And Nothing New

So strong were the currents

coursing through the inlet

that several Australian pines,

once protected by a berm,

were wading in seawater,

destined to become driftwood.

Along the eroding bank,

periwinkles were in bloom

and danced in the gulf breeze.

It was only a matter of time

before the salty waters

would put an end

to their celebration,

transforming them into

some kind of driftiwinkles.

The coastal boundaries

were being altered

by the tidal surges.

The shoreline was

in a state of flux,

as the past gave way

to a new development

not made with hands.

It was refreshing

to see this natural change

take place along the shore,

overtaken with

human presence.

Looking out over the gulf

was a look of familiarity,

unchanged by time.

As the warm waters

swirled around my ankles,

on this once isolated

stretch of sand,

I felt embraced

by a long-lost friend.

Friendly though he was,

his patience was little still.

For within his watery grasp

all signs of my visit

were disappearing without a trace.

Behind me

the hassles of the land

were littered

with personal monuments,

but not so with the gulf.

It is futile to think

I could retrace

my footprints

or leave any mark

out over the blue.

In a world of ever-changing

landscapes and borders,

that is a good thing.

For the next person

who happens to look

along the shore or

out over the water,

will only see

their memories

and nothing new.