Nostalgia

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The foamy crash
of surf on sand
is the soundtrack
of my childhood.

My sister ran toward the waves,
never afraid to swim.
But the lifeguard blew his whistle
when she went to far in.

I trailed behind her,
water at my knees,
shivering each time
I felt the salty breeze.

Sunbathers clustered -
bathing in the sand,
My skin turned pinkish red
while theirs would get tanned.

Sometimes I sat on the shore and
watched seagulls fly,
wondering if each cloud was really
a sandcastle in the sky.

If the sun was feeling shy,
it hid behind the clouds,
and swarms of bathers ran for cover
when lightning hit the ground.

When the ocean is dark and stormy
and summer is far from reach,
I wonder how high the tide will surf,
and if it will drown the beach.