A Pocket-full of Surfers
Two beautiful evening surfs,
Chill and warm sun mixing with a curious sweet-and-sour taste.
Sitting, just some seagulls and a few of us:
a pocket-full of surfers.
Not like summer.
Watching the dipping sun and it's wrinkled orange reflection coming straight at me across the water, which by now was looking a little like mercury.
I kept expecting a silvery mermaid to rise up, like The Terminator, and complete the scene. And the sun shuffled its way, relentlessly and with no sentimentality, over the horizon—without so much as even a glance back. Or a wave.
The water lapping. Waiting, and then one of my most beautiful ever rides.
Chill and warm sun mixing with a curious sweet-and-sour taste.
Sitting, just some seagulls and a few of us:
a pocket-full of surfers.
Not like summer.
Watching the dipping sun and it's wrinkled orange reflection coming straight at me across the water, which by now was looking a little like mercury.
I kept expecting a silvery mermaid to rise up, like The Terminator, and complete the scene. And the sun shuffled its way, relentlessly and with no sentimentality, over the horizon—without so much as even a glance back. Or a wave.
The water lapping. Waiting, and then one of my most beautiful ever rides.
Hey Tom, still reading this blog as ever and loving your posts. Glad to hear you have been getting out there. What a great couple of weeks, although can't wait for the big stuff to return.
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