Tuesday, 21 June 2011

On the beacon.

Midsummer Day
so I go to the beacon.

The blue down below
with pin pricks of foam
the colour of sky melts into the sea
so I stand on the beacon.

The breeze whispers by
the grasses all shiver
and branches all flutter
as caressed by the air
so I sit on the beacon.

There’s a tangible peace
with no one around
then beautiful music
a skylark above
soaring and rising
I stay on the beacon.

The swallows are many
excitedly chittering
a dog and its owner
shatter the quiet.

The pleasures are saved
never repeated
as I go from the beacon
on midsummer  day.

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