Listen with the sea, curling over rocks,
oyster, laid open with razor, and clusters of pink and bone white shells.
Listen with the Gulls, see them swiftly rise and fall, hear their call of freedom over footprints.
Sit upon a warming rock,
listen to the tide, fill your spirit with the lullaby,
the heaving sigh.
4th February 2015
A bright winter sun, cut through with North wind chill.
I sit with some discomfort below the wall made from rocks and stones.
The tide is out. I feel it has taken you with it but I am here, honouring the memory of you.
Three years since that night,
listening with J & S to the gentle music and chanting of Tibetan Meditation.
We lit candles in the Gazebo at the end of the garden.
We were with you, waiting for midnight, to coincide with your leaving on the other side of the world.
When the music ended, we opened a bottle of Champagne
and laughing through tears, we shared anecdotes of your past presence in our lives,
but in a breath of wind, the cry of gulls, a whispering sea, you are always here.