Flotsam and Jetsam
One lonely starfish.
10 million peripatetic hermit crabs scurrying and climbing over each other and rocks in search of food and a larger home.
Rocks the size of golf balls, no two the same, some red some golden all granite.
Sponges scattered on the sand.
Tongues of rocks reach out to sea.
Chunks, spikes, mushrooms and paperweights of dead coral strewn roughly aside by each tide, cast offs from the reef.
Tree trunks water logged and bearing the scars of oysters, blackened by the sea and age.
Mangroves flank the shore at the creek mouth.
Palms have a tenuous grip on the shore as the sea encroaches.
Pelicans in pairs and shrill Oyster Catchers stalking the beach.
Ospreys soar, ever alert.
Waves curl and crash.
Each tide brings a plethora of new treasures.
The only sound the sea and the palm fronds rustling in the breeze,
and the birds, doves, curlews and lorikeets.
Islands float on the horizon as if their purpose is to enhance the sunrise.