now, then, soon – shoredays,
wave-lapped hours, wind-spun and warm
like summer kisses
*
blown in midwinter
distillated on our lips
blissed out, oh! timeless
*
yoredays – flown, but here
with you forever, come spring
and the buds and birds –
*
skies drunk on light, blue
till blacked-out, then flopping blank
on a spinning globe
*
summerled like myth,
tripping out on dewy toes –
yoredays, yours, mine, theirs,
*
the only sure thing
left is love in all our lives,
strewn along the dunes
*
days of sun, shoredays –
all transilluminated,
hewn in memory
Is that the Isle of Wight in the distance in the bottom photo?
that’s correct, dan, those white cliffs are the north-north-western tip of the island, well spotted.
This is lovely and strangely warming on a dark January night… I guess the optimism for sun and beach – in their physical form, rather than perhaps their metaphorical – is perfect for the time of year.
I like how there are seven huts. One per haiku. It would be nice, in fact, to turn beach huts into an artistic installation by having the haiku painted on their walls.
“Wave-lapped hours” is especially fine.
thank you for your kind remarks, sandie!
in fact, those huts are incredibly dear – budgetwise as well as beautywise – theyre worth 200K upwards so i’m not sure how easy it’d be to graffiti them with haiku…
Is that a dog I spy, sporting in the waves there in the middle of the shot, with a ball in the mouth?