Turning.

Winter sessions melt away,
Similar to summer days.
Icy dives to ice cream cones,
Line ups feeling less alone.

Already I can hear the grumble.
Crowds and kooks, the old guys mumble.
Logs and fish, we will have fun.
You know you cannot stop at one.

But when it's hot and flat and haze,
I'll pitch my dreams back to the grey.
Skies of white and frozen bones,
Rubber thick and muted tones.

Spring, summer, fall we all delight
But winter surfers' hearts alight.
For empty points and lonely waves,
It's winter's promises we crave.