Copyright 2007 Penelope Woods

This is my season at the beach...
Victorian gas lights line Jackson Street in Cape May
It’s nearly dark on the weathered front porch of Windward House
Slightly hidden by the green and red striped canvas awnings
I snuggle into a vintage rocking chair with a glass of wine
Next to me a sleepy spider rests in the center of his elaborate web
A work of art that glistens in the glow of the wicker lamp he’s claimed as his own
The garden’s long-haired nude beauty thoughtfully stands watch
While the resident cats awaken for the evening’s hunt
Draping flowered vines, brilliantly spent hydrangeas and mums in full
bloom embellish the quiet fall setting, all to be soon lost to the frost
Conch shells line the peeling sills of the stained glass windows
Barely a breeze is felt in the moist salty air
Strange that the hurricane brushing the shoreline just two days earlier
is now a mere memory

This is my season at the beach...
The summer tourists are back to their routines
I observe those lingering off-season passersby
They speak softly in the night so as not to interrupt the eerie calm
Soft piano music wafts into to the chilled air as the elite few come and go
to the Ebbit Room across the street
Contented diners amble out of the Mad Batter and retire to their chambers

This is my season at the beach...
An opportunity to step back in time
And leave my worries behind upon entering Windward House
Indeed it’s a diversion from this century
A place to reflect on the past, cherish the moment and contemplate the future!