I remember salt smoke from a beach fire
And shadows under the pines--
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,
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