The waves are noisy children, pawing for attention,
tumbling, bickering, showing off.
The solitary seagull turns its head, too mature for such antics.
They race up to a potential playmate,
the nervous child curls her toes at their eager approach,
then runs back to he shelter of a nearby man,
whose gaze is distant from the shore.
The waves bring offerings of broken shells and tangled seaweed,
tossing the proud collection at his feet.
As a last attempt they band together, rushing
in gleeful excitement towards his sun warmed skin.
The icy embrace draws a squeal of delight from the child,
the man returns like the rush of the wave.