Fluid green like a cider bottle lay these coastal country hills.
Towns on the edge of earth and liquid dessert, once visited by sail and oar, now offer jagged highway shore,
By the windy, salty spray of a winter sea, to the weekend shadows of summer crowds.
Today the clouds refuse to bother hiding the sun, instead they join in a colourful dance, a bit blue, yet mostly peach.
A few seagulls land to snatch a snack dropped from small hands on the sparse sandy beach nestled between cliffs and port haven.
The wind pauses and the Son’s warmth holds me.
Maybe a Heavenly visitor lands to plan how to move hearts upward;
The clouds and the ocean declare a fraction of the Highest Glory.
Life is breathed into this world today, like all days, even when moments feel grey like Mondays after holidays.
Wind starts to pick up speed and skip along a darkening sea,
Hold strong and do not fear, many have passed these shores safely.