I remember the beaches of my childhood though perhaps not well.
I remember brown sands and shards of shiny shells.
I remember tiny holes at the water’s edge where Periwinkles dwell.
I remember bits of glass polished smooth by wind and sand and waves.
Now, I am old, and I see a different beach – despoiled by acts vulgar and banal.
There are shards of plastic, spoons, abandoned plastic bags, and even a sandal.
As we extract everything of worth from Mother Earth, what we leave behind is a man-made hell.
