As a child growing up in coastal West Oz
It becomes your norm
To have pristine beaches at your finger tips (Or at least at the end of the 400 bus line)

And so, with time
You come to realise
That the famous beaches
Known across the world
Perched atop a global bucket list
Aren’t quite as remarkable, nor breathtaking
As the one which taught you how to swim
The one which handed you
Your first, unforgettable wipe out
As you impatiently waited to re-surface
Or the beach, which claimed numerous pairs
Of your sunnies, thongs and fins
Of which now belong to the sea

It’s only after you leave
That you realise
And Connection to Place
Make the old beach at your fingertips
The one that can’t be replaced
No matter how far you travel
Nor how much the eye sees