Solace
Divebombed by gulls, a lone fox padds along the strandline, scavenging the discarded driftwood and relinquished seaweed. The gull’s cry, harsh, beside the pebble lapping sea.
East, a soliatry ship, navigation lights ablaze, sits anchored between me and the not quite yet risen sun. The sky glows red.
The pier lighthouse punctuates my descent as I take the sodden steps, hanging with wrack, to the cove. The flotsam of beer cans accentuating the vulnerable beauty of this hidden nook.
Flash, the metronomic regularity keeps pace with the sky brightening, but the clouds do not lift. There will be no clear sunrise today.
On my return I see a red car, high on the headland. I do not mind this intrusion into my annual ritual. I’m glad that someone else also finds solace, just occasionally, in our quiet morning world.