Waltz

I think about the atlantic gulfstream, upon which rides the fridged noreaster. It's mighty gales and cold strong winds wipe away the last traces of spring. With it go the sunny days, the lazy morning swims, and the last of the tourists back to their inland homes. Just as every year, I am sad to see it go. For it's departure sets the stage for mighty winter, for strong cold gales, and fridged barren waters.
I will miss the days of spring, like a lover from long ago. Who's very presence made you smile and who's scent sent tingles up your spine. The feel of sand between my toes. The waves breaking on the beach, the gulls circling over head, as if they possess a secret known only to the fowl of the coasts. The days before me hold chilling winds and strong cold sea's. The ocean's once welcomed embrace, will soon become a sharp slap. Bright and lovely days replaced with a barreness, day after day of bleak shadows, of cold sand beneith my feet and a chilled sting upon my face.
Yet unlike a past lover, the spring will come again. The warm breeze upon my cheek, the caress of the waves against my skin. The sweet scent of a Zephyr on the air. To sit upon that warm sand, so inviting, so appealing. To scribe my mundane musings, as the gulls squawk and the waves sing there age old songs. To feel the warmth all around me and know that it will; all too soon fade, the cycle never ending. The sea, forever locked in the dance of the seasons and the waltz of the ages. For it must all too sadly be!