The chill morning reaches through my fog,
on the air, the scent of distant rain.
Happily clad in sheltering clothes
we set off.

Along the track, styles and gates,
to where a thin brown line,
grants permission
to cross the field.

The valley top, gorse hedged path.
water in the brook below rushed
Atop the hill, look down, the sea,
pause awhile.

Steep and gravelled, but descend we must.
To turn left at the coast path,
where a kinder person, has built
ladders to the beach.

There at the song of the sea,
rest awhile. Let the sandy boys
play their fighting games,
of child’s play war.

Across the rocks to the song of the sea
The mussel pool, foraged,
a thought to fish for supper
but no.

Inevitably, distant rain encroaches,
grey headed clouds, with
drizzle on the breeze,
The wind picks up

A shortened day, call off
the dogs, and stumble back.
Happy to go home,
our way again.

This day will come.

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