Prickly pears elevated in soldierly lines
Boardshorts and bikinis in the latest designs
Awnings raised – grinding beans and screaming froth combine.
Tradies, waiting for bosses, chatted
Bosses, waiting for tradies, hard-hatted
Early commuters, spaced, at the stop
Nonchalantly eavesdrop.
Sharp angled sunbeams paint their suits bronze,
These last suited ones – dinosaur icons.
The magic of the morning light
Hits ocean rocks – a heightened sight,
Rims breaking waves with feathered height
And dots through clouds in diamond white.
The breeze is up, the white caps blow
The shore pines sway calmly – a perfect tableau.
Lifesavers arrive – the beach’s pride –
To set the flags – the local’s wind guide.
Mums with strollers, yogis with mats,
Dogs with walkers, school kids in hats,
Wet suited beginners race to the shore
Leaving the instructor to shut the van door.
The magic of the morning light
Hits ocean rocks – a heightened sight,
Rims breaking waves with feathered height
And dots through clouds in diamond white.
Cafes buzz with mums and stepcounters,
Commuters and cyclists, seated and dismounted
On chairs, or crates, or on the grass
Recycled cups, and a story to pass
The time, as eyes roam the ocean,
Faces and arms covered in lotion,
Always eastward – the beauty of the place,
Never tiring of the sound, and the smell, and the perfect pace.
The magic of the morning light
Hits ocean rocks – a heightened sight,
Rims breaking waves with feathered height
And dots through clouds in diamond white.
Pamela Bray 2021