Spitting distance

Rippled waters lap sleeping boats in early evening lullaby; as the tide trickles through the creek, slowly raising hulls from muddied beds.

 Plovers come to peck at worms wetly burrowed in brackish mud; daintily balancing, backs to the breeze, intent upon their feast.
A curlew calls, hidden between raised banks of scrub; its voice carried on the wind so we who hear cannot tell wherein it truly lies.

We cross the wooden bridge, pausing to watch the water carried over stones; and a crab, lured to baited line, wrestling with a proffered snack.

Then up onto the spit, over pebbles smoothed by countless tides, to stare out towards the horizon.

We walk towards the castle; the buffeting wind and stones slipping beneath heavy feet, making headway slow....

until, of one accord we turn and slip slide our way down the shifting slope and back along the creek side path, towards the ice-cream van and the promise of sweet treats for weary walkers .

Wild seas

As children we walked the dog on storm tossed beaches, feet crunching on slipping stones as the wind snatched at coats and hair; leaving us elated and breathless in equal measures.
Hands stuffed deep in pockets, and shoulders hunched, we stomped headlong into the gale; watching wild eyed as wind and waves hurled cloud and spume in their wake ... roaring as they raced towards the shore.
This was the sea at its best, wild and unstoppable; crashing and smashing against restless stones, smoothing rough edges of ever shifting shingle, creating banks and hollows in which to find shelter from wind blown spray.
Sometimes we would stumble upon strands of seaweed and mermaids purses, flung up from the depths and marooned on the shoreline. We would run in the wind, dragging them behind us like glorious tails; or fling them at one another; until the game was no longer a game, and we too had become as wild as the sea.

Storm

Clouds pleat into themselves, like fresh folded towels; darkening and heavy with the promise of rain. Their shadows creep across cropped corn fields, causing crowds of crows, gleaning for grain in feathered formation, to take to the wing; heading towards the shelter of ancient oaks as they race the first fat drops that fall from dulled skies.
A gentle breeze turned savage buffets the hedgerows, sending ripening apples tumbling to the ground; the noise of their landing lost in the echoing thunder. As clouds crash and cluster, rain falls in torrents; bouncing off window panes, pooling on patios ; turning the world through glass to soft focus.
... and I, curled up with steaming cup and dog-eared book; stare out at the rivulets that run down blurred panes, listening to the music of the rain, and the contented breathing of slumbering cats.

The moon

 Through slatted blinds the benevolent moon softly beams; soothing tired minds and flooding the darkened room with its quiet light.
It moves through cloudless skies, washed clean of wind and rain; its silver glow reflected in the panes of silent houses where dreamers dream of better days to come.

 Under such a moon, in distant mountains; my father and I once lay on rooftop terrace, cushioned upon soft divans, gazing upward at a myriad of stars scattered amongst deep indigo skies.
As the heat of the day slowly ebbed from each stone, and the village settled into slumber; the moon  shone silently down upon us all.

Lullaby

Relics of the day's cobbled clouds are still chalked upon the darkening sky. In the deepening indigo, I watch a golden moon rising through undressed windows, until its quiet light slowly appears in the uppermost  panes.

 Homecoming has sent those waves of exhaustion as limbs and minds relax, finally to break over me; my senses lulled by the song of crickets and purring of soft sleeping cats.

 The house enfolds me like a cashmere blanket, cradling me in its warmth and comfort. By the moon's glow, I trail my hand lightly upon the bannister  to reach the top room; and there, gaze out across rooftops and onwards to the lights of docks that never sleep; the familiar low hum of engines resonating clearly across the cool night breeze.... an industrial lullaby.

Tonight I shall sleep sound; with languid cats upon the bed to anchor feet; each vibrating breath pulling me from consciousness; until I too succumb to sleep's warm embrace.
When morning comes I shall awaken to pale sunlight filtered through slatted blinds, the soft call of doves on warmed rooftops and my rhythm of life restored.

It has been a long journey these last few months, and all of you who have cared to listen or read my words, you too have carried me home.

Homeward bound

Out of nowhere, a single call has ended the haunting wait of living, crumpled clothed, as temporary nomads. Minds fraught with the daily balancing of mundane tasks, made complex by circumstance, can at last find the still quiet calm that sustains the soul.
Tonight we can curl contented in our own beds; the heavy weight of supine cats soft breathing at our feet.
The last 5 months has been hard; especially so for small son. The constant to and fro has unsettled the most stoic of us; and daily routines established to get by, have left a lingering state of exhaustion.
Yet for all this, we have been embraced by the truest of friends, who have opened their homes to us, keeping us from crumbling.... Perhaps this is the way life's balance is restored.