The beach was empty, early,
It was just before the spring;
The calm before
The tourist season storm

My walk was three point seven
Miles. Yes, I knew it well,
For early morning walks
Were then the norm

I wasn’t wearing headphones
For I liked the ambience;
The Gulf of Mexico
Makes quite a sound

And one can act the fool
In joy and wonderment when one
Thinks no one else is
Anywhere around

Of course, that day, the empty beach
Was not quite empty, for
You were there in a chair
Beside the sea

And I did not see you until
A minute passed or more
Of you observing strange,
Erratic me

I saw you with embarrassment,
You didn’t seem to mind.
All ninety-seven pounds of you
In state

I said, “Hello. I’m Owen,”
And you answered with a laugh.
And now, three decades later,
Strange is fate:

For I’m back on the empty beach,
The spot where we first met.
You’re far from here,
As far as one could be —

But we’re still friends, of thirty years.
We’re both grandparents now,
Yet somehow
Still a boy and girl
To me