In the quiet grey of morning,
the tide about-turning in the bay,
the early cackle of gulls abating
waiting in the lingered dew.
The beach huts are keeping vigil,
in patient silence,
like holiday suitcases
ready for the journey
and the spilling of sand.
A signpost, one-sided in conversation,
hoarse with lichen,
practices its directing
on a film set without actors.
This is the waiting,
Lenten preparation
for the return of the sun.
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