On the Last Day of Summer at a Beach in Maine

The wind reminds me
that this is the end,

cool and bright
yet warm, almost spring
in the texture of the escaping heat.

I walk
like I have
so many times,
shuffling
this time in my tall,
green mud boots
and not bare toed,

blazing a trail
toward the quiet that comes
as I pace the sand
along the edges of the water
searching for shells and stones
to hold me--

to keep me from flying away.

I am the last pink and wild rose.
I am the cluster of birds ready to head south.
I am a visitor who longs to stay
where the sea embraces the sky.