This is where they birthed their pups.
This is where they swam with them
in the shallows, getting their babies
used to being the half-land, half-ocean
creatures they are.

This is where they spent hours atop
the detritus of long-gone sealife,
lolling around on shell bits
and wave-tossed rocks, sunning
and sleeping as the young seals
grew fat, and their mamas prepared
them for life in the wild.

We could not wander here then.
But now, in almost autumn,
the four-flippered, finished with
child rearing, have gone to sea,
hauling out on nearshore rocks
for daily naps.

And we, the two-footed,
are once again welcome on
this lovely beach, allowed to roam
where our hearts take us.
Where the surf laps gently and
the full moon will soon rise overhead,
and the peace of all that we are
rests here, where land meets ocean
and silhouetted cormorants fly low
over the wave tops,

and the sun, blesséd son,
warms me as I sit on a friendly rock,
and the poem arrives.