O, horizon, speak to me.
Can you not come near?
You send the sea
as messenger –
an angry sea today
patterned with
thick tassels
of white foam
sailing closer to
the promenade
like frothy sheepswool.

The wind-song carols at the window,
palm trees bow
their verdant heads
outside.
Inside is warm
and comforting
for contemplation
measured by
the sky, the sea,
the living wind.

The hungry sea birds
wheeling on the wind
above the sea
looking for food.
No fish appear–
sensibly they have
gone deep.

Birds hover round the waste bins
seeking sustenance.
No people walk the promenade
in stormy weather–
therefore gulls cannot snatch
at ice cream or sandwich,
they keen across the murky sea
most mournfully.