Place - a bit poem, a bit prose…

Here’s a boat coming in to safe harbour,
The storm on its way,
A relief to the sailor.

I come to this place often to watch the waves, to smell the sea, listen to the radio, watch the gulls, looking for the bob of the seal that together we once saw, making us laugh and - with delight - clap our hands.

I come to this place often, once I even fished, catching nothing, outdone by some small girl with her three foot rod and a kiss for bait. The setting sun, such a small fish, such a large kiss - better than no fish at all.

I come to this place often to remember, think. Planning this and planning that, plotting, asking, answering, questioning, sometimes wondering, hardly ever listening, so rarely making reality.

I come to this place often and I'll be back to look for the orange stars in pools, the scatter of fireworks across the way, pink gulls in the evening sun, pebbles, boats and snotty noses. I come to this place often.