Cardboard box lunch on the beach:
Limp sandwiches, bruised apples, melted chocolate bars.
Fine grit lodged between our teeth at every bite,
Seagulls swooping in for the crusts.
A backdrop of frenzied whitecaps,
Larksong tossed skyward,
And a ripe aroma
Of dead crab and fermenting seaweed
Wafted our way.
The culprit?
Tugging at our shirts,
Slapping strands of hair against our cheeks,
Raising goose bumps on our legs,
Hurling sand in our eyes,
Encrusting us with a film of sea salt,
Wind—ever present picnic friend.
Melissa Shaw-Smith
Writer
Melissa Shaw-Smith 
Wind at the beach is pure and unhindered. The salt finds everything.
Wind,our ever present friend and foe. It pushed our crafts to the 4 corners of the globe,it clears the stagnant air of our own making, and has provided us with a source of power for centuries.Oh ,but it does make my yogurt a bit crunchy at the beach! Love your work.
Good point!