Harbour Side Spirit

• Rachel Ferrett, Grade 11
• Poetry
• 2010

Emily looked on from her vantage point on the dunes. Holidaying families were packing away their belongings; card tables dismantled, fold out chairs refolded, anchors raised, and boats loaded back onto their trailers.

The early birds were already on the road back to their own versions of civilisation, with their boats in tow and screaming kids fighting over the newest DS game in the back seat. They had the bumper to bumper traffic of the good old Pacific to contend with, but that wouldn’t vex their happy holiday mood, they vowed as they drove away.

The elderly couples waved off their kin, cracking open a bottle of bubbly once they could no longer see them in the distance. Who cared if it was only nine o’clock in the morning? Those were the rewards of retirement. While other’s ended, their summer was only just beginning.

Little specks in the distant shallows waded around in search of the majestic sea life their brochure had promised. Oh, to be young and bothered, thought Emily. These specks were that of the young honeymooners who were too lost in the depths of love to take notice of the signs like ‘No Swimming’ and ‘Clothes are to be worn at all times’. It was summer, after all.

With the December rush now coming to an end, Emily was free to enjoy herself without a care in the world. It was her turn to bask in the crystal clear waters of her harbour side paradise like the city folk had. She could build a sandcastle larger than herself just as the young children did each day. She might even have a barbeque on the beach as the sun began to cast colours of pink and purple across the sky; the Yobbo’s seemed to enjoy it, although there may have been other reasons for that.

Sighing, she rose from her spot on the sand and cast an attentive eye over the waterfront. It didn’t really matter what she did, this place would always offer her the same thing it always had; sanctuary. She moved down to the water’s edge and let the small waves lap at her feet. This is what those holiday makers missed each and every December that they appeared with car loads of luggage. They missed the beauty of this place, the way it touched you and kept you safe, the way that the sun warmed you and relaxed you, and the way that, in the right company, you could have everything you ever needed right here on this beach.

Maybe she was wrong, maybe the beach did need all the material things to make an impact; she didn’t know for sure. But what she did know was that this place was special. And as her heart stopped beating and the growing wind slowly turned her ghostly form from spirit to sand, she hoped that someday others would see it, too.