Evening walks

The evening so still, light fading, its arc still bright to the side of us, then on some of the orange lichen covered granite rocks and boulders, like a gentle lingering, a final touch and polish before slowly brightening the other side of the world.

We paused every now and then, breathed in the fresh sea air, watched a wave or two glide into the moon curved bay, swung back towards Crockery bay, the dog flicking back sand and earth on the path, reclaiming her territory.

I joked as we passed another couple, that the sun shining on the back of their heads made them a divine pair, but in a way, it was that sort of an evening, gentle and unpresupposing, a reminder, despite the dog’s flickings, that the earth is for all, belongs to none, yet offers both the familiar, the familial, and a rush of love greater than the sea.

About bydda88

I love poetry, writing, especially writing as healing, as touching the sacred, being touched. And place, places dreaming us, us them. Coasts, rivers, canyons; the ordinary things too, the small things, gestures that reach out.
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