Last evening I found a spot in the garden unaffected by light pollution, and sat for an hour, listening to the low, constant song of the sea. I couldn’t see it but I could hear and smell it. There’s a distinct scent when salt air is mixed with the smell of summer slowly giving itself over to autumn. I plucked an apple for company and we shared that spot, high in the garden, surrounded by trees and sleeping birds, until we found what sits at the core of Eden.
the seeds you planted
in my heart have started to bear the most beautiful fruit
It took nearly half a century to meet you and seconds to get lost in the universe in your eyes. That morning we traversed the nooks and crannies of ancient coves, admiring the palette of colourful structures dotting the shorelines, holding hands all the while, sneaking kisses here and there like teenage lovers. That night, under a blanket of stars, we cuddled and relived the day over warm tea as hearts grew fonder and souls sighed.
Then, yesterday, you were gone.
late afternoon a cobbled beach of memories west sky saddened blue fingers and heart traced contrails as they disappeared beyond the horizon but setting sun held you in its arms and smiled as it led you home
She sent me a photo of beach stretching to the ocean beneath a grey evening sky. There was no distinguishing the pebbled stones from the rippled water or skyline that disappeared beyond a headland, a few miles away. The note attached said: “I left this here for you.” My heart smiled when my eyes found the heart she had scrawled in a small patch of finer sand.
you left your heart – salted away with tears – on the grey shores of the Atlantic where we walked and kissed and made memories that will last a lifetime
The sun is barely awake and I am already crawling through grass, soaked with heavy dew. I find a thick patch of blueberries and begin to pick. The berries are plump and delicate this time of year so I take my time plucking them, one by one, gently rolling them between finger and thumb before dropping them into my bucket. The sound of a boat breaks the morning silence and I pause to watch it leave the harbour, admiring its wake as it disturbs the mirrored surface. When it disappears, I turn back to the berries and resume my picking but I’m no longer in the grass. Instead, I am with you on the on the shore of an aging summer pond, rolling in heavy dew and leaving foamy wakes in our late morning tryst.
and there among the dewy fruit I found you – and myself – in moments of daydreaming
I see you sitting beneath a canopy of grey clouds photographing as late summer’s yellow flowers and lush green grass stand on the edge of the Atlantic and admire its vast beauty but more than these your smile