Last Morning in Provincetown
Writing about nature is not my thing,
I like the gruffness of my city in the morning.
The train squealing at the stop,
birds squawking, hidden in the sparse trees,
that get their start shooting through the concrete.
An occasional early bird passerby hurrying on the empty street
traffic lights still all turned to red.
But here I am
at the sea,
and all is quiet
except for the birds, here hidden in the sky,
making the only sound I hear.
Watching the tide slowly go out,
ripples, not waves,
it is an inlet on the tip of Cape Cod,
The sun sits low
a sky of fiery orange, now pale lavender,
reflecting on the water.
A bird lands at my feet,
a chickadee I think,
not knowing much about birds
who live at the ocean.
It stops for mere seconds,
tilting its head left and right,
curious about me on my beach chair
and flutters off.
Then a seagull lands on the rail
hoping I have a sandwich
they can snatch from my hand,
This is how seagulls think.
As I sit here in the coolness of the morning,
wrapped in the quilt I have pulled from the bed,
I realize nothing is happening here,
No cars, horns or people on the move.
Just me and the silence and the wavering water, and a couple of birds.
And that is just fine with me.
Author: Melanie Civin Kenion
Photo: Nick Wilson on Unsplash
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