I watched the gulls swoop and dive, a frenzied harvest on the darkest soil. Grey skies like soft focus on the land. This immeasurable view could fill page after page with wonder. How these slopes entice and embrace, I like the unmapped path, where footprints rather than dictation lead the way. 

Colours staggered like a watercolour left out in the mist, but no less a masterpiece with imperfections intact. My eyes undemanding feast on this, like a silent gift it clings to my mind its grace unfolds with patience. 

I breathe deeply that I might exhale the city from my lungs, but to unleash such a plague in this serenity would puncture my soul, what’s mine remains so. Smoke rises from beyond the hedgerow the charcoal maker’s office. 

Dusk falls quickly now, this clock that we live by for reasons unknown.