Sunny with a Chance of Clouds

The weekend comes and we drive to the beach.
We’ve been checking out a different one each time.
Our tote has water bottles, a book and towel each,
Plus a mesh bag for all the shells we might find.
We walk to the water, sometimes without shoes.
There is always a boardwalk and bridge on the way.
Scrub trees and tall grasses on the path that we choose,
The Gulf is before us. Now which way?

We don’t want to sit near too much of a crowd;
We want our own little space – our real estate spot.
That family and friends group is just too loud.
The breeze off the water keeps it from being too hot.
Let’s unfold the towels and set everything here.
Ready or not, here I come, oh Gulf waters dear!

I walk into your shallow and then move
through tiny crushed shells that make up your sand.
The sound of your waves is music I love.
I walk deeper and deeper, and my hand
floats on the top, like I’m caressing your skin.
You call me to walk out ’til I’m deep to my shoulders.
I wait for the next wave, then dive in.
This new rush of water is colder.

I watch for your next wave as I stand on tiptoe.
I’m ready to follow your lead toward the shore.
I hop just a little when you hit me, and we go
closer to the beach. This game I adore!
We play hopscotch until I must sit in the sun.
You drive me home to my towel. You are so much fun!

Writing201 Poetry: pleasure (topic), sonnet (poetic form), apostrophe (literary device)