Billowing in bursts that sting the eye and naked leg.
Whipping hards shrubs that grasp fistfulls of oxides,
Tress that retch white salts from their waxy complexion.
Sand on a beach.
Pain from walking.
Calcium deposits far and wide, strewn and forgotten by long-dead creatures.
Cuts and abbrasions up the naked leg, a fallen victim to the wash.
Broken bottles, a rotted thong and a needle amongst the spinifex.
The shelly shore.
A bird pecking too hard at a rock that won't give,
An innocent creature peeking from the dirty wash of pale sand.
A naked leg burning, searing, melting, in summery heat.
Clothes, a towel, ants crawling through the grass.
The holiday makers.
Spinifex to shrubs to undergrowth to trees.
A rough path cut by water and wear and inquisitive tourists,
Happy in their way to and from the other side,
Odd holes, as big as a finger, poke crevices in the whiteness of earth.
Home of the crabs.
The water, blue as the richest eye that stares down.
The sky, bleached by the salty horizon.
The house on the headland, lost somewhere in the misty spray.
The smell, cleansing, washing though, filling the soul.
The shore, of course.
