This year, there are fences along the beaches,
row after row of them,
not the picturesque fences often topping the dunes,
the stuff of a thousand beach photos,
all romantic and half covered in sand,
bent over by wind, a half relic of the sea,
no, these fences have purpose. Meaning.
They are protection for row after row
of newly planted seagrass, those fragile and powerful
tufts of grass that save the landscapes,
no longer wild, but put in the ground like crops.
A needful thing in the battle to save the shorelines.
They must be protected, these tufts. A single errant step
can kill the tender green plants, and people are careless
in their rush to find the shores.
And so the fences, the limits, less than idyllic,
less than we might want as we think on
to romance of oceans and dunes.
But we all need protection sometimes,
and fences are just the thing
to save us from ourselves
and the people who love us.
About this poem
About the fences at the beach. About the fences in our lives. Make sure you have some from time to time. They can help keep our very selves from washing away.