Monday, June 03, 2013

"On the way to St Ives, I met a man with seven wives...."

Save me a plot here...

...when no-one's looking I will come and sit here.

Winter in St. Ives

Looking up at the egg shell white skies
Wisped with misty wintered greys
A rainy postcard panorama
Of a certain earthly amaze.

Pulling my coat around my mouth
The battling chill crowns my head
Coastline gulls waddle on the mirroring wet sand
Swept from the unforgettable colours of the oceans bed.

Into restaurants and into coffee houses
The rare few haste to keep warm
An unique contrast of summer
With all its feverous, raucous swarm.

Gazing out at the stately homes stacked on rustic mossy rocks
Dark green trees thread themselves in the thrilling fabric of the hills
Hearing the bluster against the many boat masts
While an intoxicating calm in me quickly distils.

This is a place so at ease with its own hibernation
Merrily exposing a different character that is wondrously undressed
And as I take in the rows of closed shops
The feeling left isn’t one of emptiness but one of being blessed.



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