The Fog Is Lifting

Fog obscures the tropical sun,
leaving silhouettes down the beach,
much as we are all silhouetted,
blocked from the glow of full life.

A small boy flings sand into the water,
and rages at the waves ambushing his feet,
little different than our futile raging,
about politics and masks and restrictions.

A girl races to splash into the water,
but darts away from the approaching waves,
just like our steps to regain normalcy,
thwarted yet again into isolation.

Fishermen cast bait into the shroud,
to catch fish they care not to eat,
as we desperately search Netflix,
for shows we care not to watch.

Sunbathers cry out for the sun,
shell seekers lament the cool breeze,
and dodging the unrelenting waves,
the sandpipers feed, as they always do.

’Tis a foggy beach,
these are foggy times,
but lo, the fog is lifting,
and warmth will return to us all.