The beach is nearly empty,

except for one lone person

sitting on the seawall.

Clouds eclipse the sun

she sought,

yet, she walks forward,

dropping her towel

on the sand

as she walks toward the water.

Hesitant, she knows,

knows he is watching.

Watching her backside,

which she hates,

and her feet too.

Feet too big for her frame,

bigger than his,

she is sure.

She walks slowly,

making her mark

on the cold, damp sand.

slowly nearing the water.

She is hesitant.

She can feel his stare,

the only thing

keeping her warm.

If she turns around,

she will see him watching,

as he sits on the seawall.

What is he thinking?

Does he see her hesitation,

the wall she built around her?

She steps hesitantly

into the water,

water cool in the absence of sun,

sun that she came to find,

sun that does not judge.

She lets the sea blanket her,

before she turns to look,

and there he is,

sitting on the seawall,

smiling and watching.

Watching her,

admiring her even.

Admiring and watching.

Watching and touching,

touching with his eyes.

Eyes as gray as the day,

but warmer than the sea.

Sherri Walker for the Poplar Grove Muse