Last I Looked


This perfect place for drifting, for playing, for sculpting, digging, pounding, kicking, every angle pristine sand, fresh poetic energy.

Lines of vines cavort with the tides, sea-pink blossoms roar up; tall stems arch, lift, wave me through on view, private too, brought home on canvas not so long ago.

But now.

Wind-blown debris intrudes between the weeds. Cigarette butts, crumpled plastic, shiny shards of crockery, firework shells, rusty beer cans, sun-baked fish bones and needles.
I move hesitantly, collect what I can.

This change is painful. Salt-soaked, heavy in my hair, the sheen upon my skin stings, smears my eyes with goodbye, I crouch small, curl inside.Thousands of tiny ripples catch my shadow, exactly what is lost: The end to what I think of this… place.

It is early morning, humid. The fog thickest then. A day without sun or rain.


Copyright © Kelly Huntson and  All rights reserved.


7 thoughts on “Last I Looked

    1. I so agree. Thank you, Dale. Unfortunately more people in coastal areas results in more trash, especially plastic pollution.
      And I don’t think there will be a decrease in coastal population growth any time soon which presents a real challenge.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. Beautifully written! Captures the loss of something that was once pristine and encourages a greater sense of awareness to the sad plight of what we are choosing to do to our only home.

    Liked by 2 people

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