BEACH, AT SUNSET
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
Showing posts with label BEACH AT SUNSET. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BEACH AT SUNSET. Show all posts
Saturday, April 26, 2025
Friday, April 12, 2024
BEACH, AT SUNSET
BEACH, AT SUNSET
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
Friday, April 21, 2023
BEACH, AT SUNSET
BEACH, AT SUNSET
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
Wednesday, March 23, 2022
BEACH, AT SUNSET
BEACH, AT SUNSET
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
Tuesday, April 20, 2021
BEACH, AT SUNSET
BEACH, AT SUNSET
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
Tuesday, November 10, 2020
BEACH, AT SUNSET
BEACH, AT SUNSET
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
Thursday, April 16, 2020
BEACH, AT SUNSET
BEACH, AT SUNSET
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
Monday, November 4, 2019
BEACH, AT SUNSET
BEACH, AT SUNSET
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
Saturday, July 21, 2018
BEACH, AT SUNSET
BEACH, AT SUNSET
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
Friday, January 19, 2018
BEACH, AT SUNSET
BEACH, AT SUNSET
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
Sunday, October 22, 2017
BEACH, AT SUNSET
BEACH, AT SUNSET
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
Saturday, January 28, 2017
Beach, At Sunset
BEACH, AT SUNSET
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
Thursday, November 17, 2016
BEACH, AT SUNSET
BEACH, AT SUNSET
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1995
After a tense week of dealing with the impossible,
I pull myself away
to totally “veg-out” at the beach;
as time
(or fate)
would have it,
I arrive before sunset,
but just barely.
Slowly,
steadily,
the sun begins its descent towards the Gulf.
I keep a watchful eye on it
as I walk towards the water’s edge;
once there,
with sandals in hand,
I wade in, ankle deep,
and, following the shoreline,
watch as the sun edges
closer
toward the horizon.
Nearby,
several screaming sea gulls
swoop and dive,
chasing each other around
before settling
on the beach.
A pelican,
large and awkward,
dives for a fish;
at the last second,
it folds up,
looking as though shot,
then with delicate swiftness,
it snatches a fish,
eats and leaves.
It is then that the sun
slowly
sinks
into the Gulf,
looking as though it, too, has been eaten,
consumed by the water.
The sky above turns a soft peach-and-orange
as the water becomes a steely gray.
Slowly,
I wander away,
refreshed.
This was written after a stressful week. I was driving cab and dropped someone off at home near the beach and decided to go for a walk on the beach. This is part of my collection Revolutionary Broads and Other Nightmares, currently looking for a publishing home.
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