Everywhere a view. Everywhere.
Even the benches are special: all dragon tails and tongues.
The ground is a sleeping dragon.
Sweeping curves cupping an impossible blue, and all uphill
though never a struggle. A place fit for all weathers.
Arctic in March, Grecian in Autumn.
An enchanted land. Everlasting beautiful.
Keen memories burn bright behind my eyes.
Rust-flecked railings. Thighs warm beneath sun-seared sea walls.
Stepping down to crunch on pebbled sand.
Work, then downhill to eat, drink and be merry.
Meeting folks flatmates coursefolk?
A chemical reaction. Catalysts of friends all now thrown to four corners of the globe…
by the centrifuge of time.
Some coming to rest nearer than others.
The sun. Longed for in harsher months, then adored once arrived.
The constant murmur, sigh, hiss roar of waves-
No- the pelting mist-flung slap of pebbles, dashed where none belong.
A time to be wet, and joyous.
Memories whetted now, in vivid hues.
Well after midnight,
thirteen years after I left.
Copyright Tom Tide 2017