Crossing

Sat twice today. First, briefly, this morning when there was a little milky sun but I didn't have much time. Then in the evening for half an hour. I'd felt sleepy after work but wanting to sit as well.

SO cold out there, grey sky and sea, a flock of mallards huddled far out, trilling their distinctive call; gulls cruising the thermals - a relative term I'm sure. I huddled too, drifting, half asleep, content. This space of sitting allows memory and imagination to merge surfacing snippets of long-forgotten poetry, dimly remembered events. It feels healing somehow, and necessary.

The image is of the bubbles at the foot of the seawall in the morning light; they triggered these lines from long ago.

Tony, stranger
Softness in your eyes
Deep as the sea
Sharp as seagulls? cries

Sunlight on the sea
Of the twoness, oness
Sometimes sunless
Worlds of you and me

Taking us towards
And away
From the ones
We want to be

Someone, yes someone,
Is saying goodbye