A space usually full of colour and vitality now lies fallow. 

It’s desolate here; the wind is fierce and the sand is hard. 

A grim picture of grey awaits wanton wanderers. 

No families dance here now, 

their laughter has been drowned by the waves. 

 like an abandoned fairground, 

There’s a solemn beauty about the deserted shore, 

 always graciously hoping for another chance to entertain. 

But that’s the paradox of the beach in winter. 

Its annual renaissance is never far away and 

its sober silence sits astride a confidence of more glory forthcoming. 

Vibrancy will return to the sands and so too will the laughter. - Robert Siney