Water's edge

I haven't given you much poetry here of late. So I looked through the past offerings from our friend Karen in Tennessee, and found this. It made me smile:

An Ill Wind

By Louis Jenkins

Today there's a cold northeast wind blowing, piling up ice all
along the water's edge.

The Point is deserted, no one for five
miles down the beach.

Just the way I like it.

The sand is frozen mostly, so the walking is easy as I pick my way through the
wrack and drift. 

Today I don't even leave footprints. 

Wind, sand, sun and water. A simplicity that defies comprehension.

The barest essentials for the imagination's work. This shore has
been pretty much the same for ten thousand years. 

Countless others have been here before me, musing and pondering, as
they walked down the beach and disappeared forever. 

So here's what I'm thinking: wouldn't it be great if one of them dropped
a big roll of hundred dollar bills and I found it?