Shoe-gaze on the pier

Down into the pebble landscape, a moment trapped in perspex pages.  Wanting to be remembered.  The sound of the waves crash and recede, the little bubble up dances that occur, spinning top fairies in the whitewash.  The feel of slight spray, and the warmth of a winter sun climbing above the pier.  Its circus of colour muted into biege sepia.  Mystical, an image from this time or another time.

Children dodge the splashes where the waves smash the sides of the stone platform.  And at the waters edge they dance coyly with the reaching tide.  They know this being is somehow extraordinary.  Bigger than them, bigger than it all.

Already forgotten, already faded.  The light still almost tangible behind irises, the irregular clash of waves still almost echoes behind eardrums…

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