I remember salt smoke from a beach fire

And shadows under the pines -

Solid, clean . . . fixed -

Seagulls perched at the tip of land,

White upon green . . .

And a wind comes through the pines

To sway the shadows;

The seagulls spread their wings, Lift

And fill the sky with screeches.

And I hear the wind

Blowing across our beach,

And the surf,

And I see that our fire

Has scorched the seaweed.

--Frank Herbert in Dune (Gurney Halleck's tone poems for sad times)