The dawn, yet to come – the sky is dark blue velvet and the wind whispers of the sea, these all speak to me of you. You who loved to wind-surf on the sea, you who made sculptures with me out of jetsam and then we combed the sand as though it was a young girl’s tresses, like Japanese monks.
The sea, so many long years ago, another velvety predawn.
A shepherd passed with his sheep each morning. We awoke to the sound of the bell sheep, the others bleating behind it. The shepherd always smiled at us, maybe thinking that we were a little crazy to sleep on the sand wrapped up in sleeping bags when we had a perfectly good tent set up.
“‘Giorno!” he’d say tipping his hat then he’d follow his sheep never looking back.
The days were hot and the sun intense, so we built a shelter of old straw mats, reeds and wood we’d found on the beach or just beyond the beach, in a sort of tangled grove. We bought two folding chairs and during the hottest part of the day we sheltered, until the tide rose.
And after a day of swimming and surfing, when the night came, we played our harmonicas as we waited for our dinner to cook over the open fire. We drank our wine, talked for hours and then made love under the stars to the sound of the waves on the shore.
this blue velvet sky
is turning purple now
the sea – far away
I walk along the lake – there
a lone surfer sails at dawn
© G.s.k. ‘15
Bastet and Sekhmet's Library 