The wind is strong at Piha and the sand stings my face
As we tiptoe and squeal, crossing two streams, cold,
Walking to the rock tumble at the end of the beach,
5 friends in a line, shoes in hands, jeans rolled,
Because we can.
Kids with boogie boards, like Viking warriors with shields,
Stride over dunes, legs wide, wallowing in the soft.
Then they run. How they run! Slapping hard wet sand,
Hurling their warm pink bodies on their boards in the surf
Because they can.
Behind them stretch the dragon hills whose starving flanks
Are steep gullies of greens, blues, hints of ember red.
In front of them the grey Tasman seethes with angry possibility.
Ah! How I long… but no. I zip my jacket closer to my neck
Because I can.