Reach for me, my friend
From the gloom besetting you
I have light to spare

Reach for me, my friend
From the gloom besetting you
I have light to spare
Such was her presence
She left eddies in the world
Long after she left
Rain abated
Dimpled sand dries in Rorschach patches
Sky a mottled grey
A single darkened cloud
Mimics patterns in the sand
Some might wish for the sun
To feel the heat on their skin
Or rising from the scalding sand
Secure in the haven of a beach towel
Beneath an umbrella in a sea of beachgoers
But I prefer this solitude
Shared only with the rumbling surf
And the gull idling by
On the penetrating wind
Which tousles my knotting hair
Draw my windbreaker tight against the insistent chill
Rub some warmth into my thighs through the denim
All the while engaging the impression
That I have this spectacular planet
All to myself
With gentle insistence
The ocean rises up to greet me
And I, pant legs rolled to my calves
Welcome it’s cool, frothy embrace
Enjoy the caress of water over my ankles
The sensation of sinking into the sand
As the receding wave draws the beach
From beneath my feet
I stay there for an hour or so
Take a few steps back
When the waves threaten my trousers
A few steps forward
When they fail to reach me
My sandpiper dance
In time with the surf song
And its choir of gulls
The world comes apart a little
As I drag myself up onto the shore
Desperate to make the high tide line
Before exhaustion consumes my consciousness
Which seems already sparsely rational
The flood tide saved me
Put land within my reach
But while the Moon is a compassionate Goddess
The Sea Lord is greedy
And eagerly awaits Her waning influence
To drag me back to His depths
Hand over hand I crawl
Wet sand beneath my nails
Sodden clothes a sullen weight
Every laboured breath sputters salt water
Until my eyes roll back
With a final thought
I hope this is far enough
On a cool, calm morning
Overcast, serene
The river and the people
Flow out to the shore
There to be lost
In their own way
To the surf and the sea
Tides and surf
Wash death’s remnants
Upon the shore
Autumn’s chill short days
Fell colourful leaves
To brown on forest floor
Nature makes no time
For funerals or grieving
In the cycle of life
Love and loss and mourning
Experiences of consciousness
Which is to say
When existence
Becomes conscious of itself
And learns to fear oblivion
I cut a path through the long grass billowing
Well off the trail the others had tread
And composed there a scene
Few travellers would see
Footfalls through the dunes
Skies grey as the sand
And blackened monoliths
Tossed about like stones
From a small child’s hand
There, in the buffeting wind
Amidst the storm-sodden grass
Shielding the lens
From the rain and debris
I gathered dim light
Small hope had I
This photo could be…
Worth soggy shoes
And cold, wetted socks
My pants would drip water
Later
When twisted in knots
First, back to the car
All shivering raw
Engine now running
With hands to the heater
Hoping to thaw
Now months and months later
At home nice and warm
Editing photos I took in a storm
To my delight I discover
They came out… alright
Slate grey sky
Slate green sea
Ancient conifers
Snuggle up to the rocky shore
Recalling, perhaps
Distant ancestors
From a primordial ocean
Even I can imagine
With my scant sixty years
From this perch over Boiler Bay