COLD COLLAROY

Collaroy was cold and wet today.

The surf spat like a spoiled toad

And the wind washed faces with spray,

While a dozen walkers to’d and fro’d.

Gritty grey clouds crowded

Looking stately, steely, stern and gruff;

Hulking behind the glass-eyed houses

Peering from the plateau above the bluff.

The sea took in the monochrome sky

And turned into that greeny grainy blue

That never pleases quite enough

To achieve the level of a lovely view.

Often when the slow churning sky turns dark

The cold water seems warmer than the bitter air.

But today those waves of creamy chop and froth

Were too ragged with rips and tows to try their fare.

Then the rain swept up from the south

Careening across, making bubbles like blisters on the swell.

Showered droplets drenched sand into patterned pockmarks

While walkers stretched their steps into runs of rude farewell.