I wake in the night.
“Do we have any water Will?”
Thinking Fealings
The flow of happiness must be drunk from cupped hands. It can only be held for a short while. It trickles through our fingers even as we try to grasp it. Happiness flows from wherever we may find pleasure. It runs warm and soft but quickly slips away.
By the Sea in March
Sitting by the Sea's loud silence,
Quieted to stillness, eyes closed, in Sun dazzled shimmers,
Church in the Beech Wood
The wood drips the cloud back to soggy earth,
Sheltered now from the winds' worst excess,
Morning and Sea Glass
Morning
Beach walk
Springs promise; suns warmth
Lapping waves a soothing sound
Shoreline joy sharks tooth!
Winter Walk
Stormy sky and whirling wind, Salty smell and foamy flotsum,