Summer beach

… The encroaching threat of occupation (Channel Islands, 1940) …

Close your eyes.

~

Rest.

Soft sand,

a gentle cushion,

warm honey light,

fluttering from the sea.

Ice water,

oozing,

creeping,

closer.

Cold shadows coming,

crawling across,

tarnishing day,

jolting a shiver –

convecting currents

ballooning above

in the untold dimensions

of the massive of your mind …

~

Eyes closed.

~

Resting.

~

Laughter floating,

lapping away to uncover the silence behind.

Your back to the earth, facing

down to the sky,

falling,

forward to

infinity.

The faint coast of France

no more a dream,

smoke hanging

as fires sprout.

Minutes trickle

to night, drawing

us to our doom.

~

With no return?