Autumn in the city

There is something about wandering around cobbled street surrounded by russet leaves and trees with amber crowns leaning against brightly lit shop windows and cozy white painted cafes.

There is something about the dim orange autumnal light making tan-less faces shine beautiful, and the northern wind whipping up rose cream to brush on people’s cheeks.

There is something about little wooden homed cafes in the autumn rain with people in them drinking hot chocolate and smiling while wet drops cover the windows with diamonds.

There is something about children and puppies tossing around leaves and dancing in muddy puddles.

There is something about listening to the sea while sitting on a bench in a park eating Cinnamon buns with cold stiff hands.

There is something about autumn in the city…especially in the north where the sun blazes so briefly in the summer, yet so strong into the night itself. There is something about the nip in the air on those first days of October, waking us up and inviting us in, celebrating the natural rawness of sea and sky and land…

I miss the ocean

I miss the ocean, the scent of it, the movements of the waves breathing upon the shore. I miss the blues and greens of the reflective surface mirroring the changing seasons from inky blue-black winter to clear sapphire to the softest cornflower summer.

I miss the rainy frothing autumn currents whipping up a storm. I miss the stillness of blue against blue with only white cottony dots, above and below, sailing on their way. There is nothing a beach or a black cliff can’t make better.

I miss the mooring poles, rusted orangey-red, standing erect on slippery slopes headed to sea. I miss the hexagon light huts with red hats casting longing glances at the starry horizon. I miss beach carnations, pretty Pinks, birthed savagely from stony cavities on barren cliffs.

I miss the sound of the ocean. Roaring forcefully, keening wistfully, or lulling soothingly, while polishing land and thoughts smooth and shiny. There is nothing better than being rocked to sleep by the ocean. Maybe it is the water in me calling to its twin, or the pre-historic aquatic creature longing for its origin. I am left to wonder.

But there is something about the ocean that moves me. Maybe it is time to move with it…to that island I have always been dreaming of…

Early summer morning

Early summer morning,
Young sunrise above the sea.
Where his shadow falls
Over the grass I plant my life
Like a cluster of moss
Afloat on wind-stirred sea,
Flushing without roots,
Weirdly softening when the edges
Of his silhouette leans against
My empty handed longing.