I used to stand,
back against the ocean,
listening to the calls of the seagulls,
taking comfort in the whoosh of the waves,
feeling each fresh, salty breath in my lungs,
and each grain of sand between my toes.
I used to walk,
feet being pulled in by the tide,
watching the innumerable gulls walk beside me,
feeling the foam brush my ankles,
the air tickling the back of my neck and the tips of my ears,
the sand, below me, always coming and going.
I used to sit,
facing the waves, just out of reach,
gazing at the birds soaring right above the water,
hearing the tide in time with my breathing,
the light, playful air surrounding me,
the sand my cushioned throne.
I used to lay,
beach towel underneath,
seeing the birds strut on the sand,
the waves the only sound,
the air mine alone,
the sand cascading along my being.
Now I gaze,
far away in the distance,
at the seagulls, slowly diminishing,
at the sea, turning blacker and grimier,
at the sky, dark with poisons,
at the sand, ruined with the rubbish of mankind.
And I weep.