Two rainbow striped umbrellas,

well anchored in the sand,

opened wide,

creating a cooling circle in the sun.

Two rainbow striped chairs,

partially reclined,

empty now.

On two low plastic tables set beside the chairs

waited two cups holding frosty drinks

of undetermined liquid,

on the rocks.

Two hand printed signs

staked into the sand

on either edge of the shadow:

GONE FOR A WALK.

HAVE A SEAT.

ENJOY A DRINK!

I’M 74,

WIDOWED THESE LAST TWO YEARS.

I LOOK FORWARD TO YOUR

COMPANY AND CONVERSATION.

SINCERELY,

WALTER.

Nancy and I

had claimed a nearby spot on the beach

for quite a while

so we had seen that scene before

and had come to admire Walt’s ingenuity.

A patient fisherman,

he’d baited his hooks,

dropped his lines into a fish filled sea

and waited like he had all the time in the world

and owned the boat.

The nibbles were frequent.

And, since the beach is Floridian,

a widower at 74

is chum.

He seldom sat alone

and often met a helper

to lug his beach gear home.

And then, one Autumn morn,

a familiar face was seen.

We’d learned her name was Josephine.

And by her smile

we didn’t need to wonder

why those two fading invitations

in the sand

had been withdrawn.