A few intrepid souls trudge to the water,
like a seaside painting in a British museum,
braving the wind that insinuates itself
through the gaps in the buttons and pockets.
They stand a while, walk a bit, throw bread to the seagulls,
and then turn back, almost defeated by the cold,
except perhaps for that sliver of peace, a shell, a rock,
a reminder of the waves and sand
and that one moment of peace
brought home to stay.