Original Poem by Susan Woodhead

A brooding sky;
Moody.

All day building angry banks of clouds
across the horizon.
Showers,
Thinly veiled,
now curtain the sea;
The first quick drops pepper and pelt the sand.

Children, hastily prised from rocks
gathered like oysters,
Shocked.
Their mouths
small clam-shells of surprise,
fists balled to their eyes,
Protest the unfinished sandcastle,
The abandoned bucket and spade.

Tourists,
Undecided,
Stand.

Locals,
Content to wade a little longer,
Stroke, plunge, surface, dive.

Board-riders,
Anticipating an increase in swell,
Dwell.

The beach empties.
Like soldier crabs into wet sand
Crowds melt into cafes,
Fill cars,
Scurry away.

We too, retreat.
The sluice of water washing crusted sand grains
from our feet.