January.

sea spume - 2

My muscles shorten me by a good two centimetres as they scrunch up tightly in an attempt to conserve warmth in the frigid apartment.

At midday, I glance up at the blue ribboned sky threading together the dark empty street – and see that now is time for the beach.

Rounding the corner, through the arch/frame – all is life and quickening.
White spume dashes off the rocks as the waves swell and roll ever higher onto the light bleached, sand.

A four-mast sailing boat pitches and dips a couple of hundred metres off shore and provides entertainment for the seasoned swimmers, forced to sit and watch this time.

I peel off the layers and join them on the stone bench, sun drenched.
Immediate heat targets tightness – the joints soften, open, and I lift my face to the solace and
order is restored.