AMELIA ISLAND

At dawn, where vines climb wind-swept trees,

A cry is borne on salty breeze.

The sound of wings fills the air.

I look for gulls, but none are there.

They’ve flown at light of day.

At noon, the sun has risen high.

I hear the seagulls’ ruckus cry,

While standing on the briny sand

where sea birds cry out as they land

and pelicans fly above the foam.

At evening, the flock has found the way

From ocean wide to narrow bay.

By the light of the rising moon,

I leave my footprints on the dune

For the wind to sweep away.

A few warm, sunny days have brought fond memories of growing up just off the northeast coast of Florida on Amelia Island.  There were BIG sand dunes along the beach and on the east side of the unpaved road to Fort Clinch.  A Sunday drive with the family always included stopping by one of the dunes so we children could climb up and roll down.

Now houses stand where those magnificent dunes once stood and people are discouraged from climbing the dunes on the Fort Road.

       Until We Meet Again,

       Mary Nolan Brown