A beach, just about empty
A warm autumn morning, early.
Summer still in the air.

Short dip done
Back to the bike
by the footbridge.
Wearing shorts, shirt,
cap, sunglasses.
Carrying towel, togs,
phone, bag, sandals.

Nearing the bridge
ten metres or so
a glimpse of grace.
A sky-blue swimsuit.
Her dark hair is up
off her all but
bare shoulders.
Her footsteps silent.

Wearing
no shorts
or shirt or cap
or sunglasses.
Carrying
nothing
no phone, towel, bag.

Bearing
composure
equanimity
insouciance.

Bent over
unlocking the bike
sixty-six years
of flesh and bone
under the clothes.

“How’s the water?”
she says brightly,
passing by.
“Lovely,” I sigh
Looking up
“Lovely.”

The beach is far from empty.

See also: The Turquoise Swimsuit.