Sitting by the Sea's loud silence,
Quieted to stillness, eyes closed, in Sun dazzled shimmers,
Keen wind from east drawn thinly now across the shore,
Liminal sand scoured clean by tides,
Turning power tumbling stones to form,
The sculpted seat of sitting's comfort.
Found now, the moment, still in restless shivers,
Spring's beginning still cowed by winter's prowl,
Sun disarming flows, the golden hue of hope.
Scraps of skin sunk back from clothing's edge,
Radiance tenderly explores,
The dalliance of Sun kissed warmth,
Days? Weeks? Soon.
Soon the time will come to bask and bathe,
Then the diffidence of Spring will be a memory,
Lingering only by dawn's twilight and dusk's dwindling,
Moments of shrinking coldness.
The hope of summer's heat flutters,
On the edge of being... it draws me on.
Listening to - Recomposed: Vivaldi - The Four Seasons - Max Richter