Beachcombing

Walking along the shore. 
Senses peaked, flooded. 

Eyes in the sand, 
Treasure to be found. Once discarded. 

Sea grass giving voice to the wind. 
Waves the soundtrack. 
Dubbed in by high pressure and low, 
Someplace else. 

Hot sand, 
Pockets of seaglass. 

Children following, searching for treasure. 
Feathers, sharks teeth,
Sticks and stones. 

I keep it all in jars and bottles so that they will remember,
Beachcombing. 
The soundtrack of water. 
The hot sand. 

The treasure.