Feet in the sand, washed by the tide,
she walks slowly on the beach.
A warm breeze caresses her cheek
and ruffles her skirt.
She raises her hands to her breast
covering her heart as if to
protect the ache that rests there.
The pain is gone but the sadness
persists, somehow becoming an old
friend she can’t let go.
Green palm fronds sway in the breeze
as the sun turns the clouds
orange and pink, an oil painting.
As darkness descends she arrives
at the bungalow. A glass of wine
and maybe a letter to write,
letting them know she’s
not coming home.