The seagull calls my name

I walk along the shore, not
too close, not to be touched by
the water. The sand is deeper,
the waves stronger and louder,
the sea-salt smell more pungent
than I expect.
My skin tastes wind mixed
with sun; my eyes feast on
the distant hills framing the
beach like a draped shroud,
although I do not know
if the hills or the distance
are the framing.
I hear the cry and look up as
the lone seagull emerges from
behind the waves and soars,
calling my name.
I look down to see the surf
surging around my legs.

Photograph: Oregon Beach at Sunset by Nancy Rosback. Used with permission.