Labor Day Monday
That lonesome time of year to bid farewell to a glorious summer.
Golden sea oats wave in soft breezes that caress the crest of the beige sand dunes.
The high tide surf crashes rhythmically along the beach shelf,
Receding, leaving white, frothy foam along the shoreline.
The Carolina blue sky dotted with puffs of white, marshmallow clouds
Forms a canopy over the aquamarine ocean.
Sea gulls glide through the air currents with wings wide-spread
Waving good-bye to those lingering on the shore,
As die-hard beach bums grasp for those final rays of sunshine.
The wind no longer whips the ruffled fringes of the umbrellas
For now they are collapsed, lined up in a row,
Like silhouettes of green, yellow, and blue Christmas trees
Waiting to be tossed into the beach service storage bin.
Wooden beach chairs slap close as the lifeguard folds them up for the final time.
Cheery “so longs” are uttered, as folks reluctantly tuck away
That last-found shark’s tooth in their bag of summer beach memories.
Boogie boards, body boards, and surf boards are rinsed and dried for winter storage.
Labor Day Monday is that lonesome, special time at the beach,
As the sun recedes into the West, time to say, “Good Bye Summer.”
How fortunate for me that I don’t have to say farewell,
For I can return tomorrow to tilt back my striped beach chair,
Retrieve my paperback novel from my purple beach bag,
And luxuriate in another of God’s glorious Myrtle Beach Days.