Walk at Dusk

Summer visitors do not know this beach.
Solitary stretch of sand and shingle,
low hanging black grey clouds
with dusk tugging at the edges of the sky
at only seven o clock

When the summer visitors return
the beach will wear a face,
less lonely.
For now there is only the dog and I,
two dedicated kite surfers
and the gulls whose cries,
like age old lamentations,
Are not enough to fill
the grand emptiness.