Do you remember the day we walked between the bays? You tucked bits of rainbow into your pocket and dived through the layers with a palette knife.
We followed the sea wall, meandered in and out of secret gardens, toward the pier. We found a spot to rest. I unwrapped our sandwiches
while you looked across the flat pewter sea dissolving into the horizon. Words tinged with salt fell from your lips. A couple of minutes longer, you
would have disappeared into the landscape. Disappeared into the grey sky. A gull swooped, landed, called
a melancholic. We continued the ocean behind, beyond, between. You said, one day you will swim with weedy sea dragons.
I took a photo of you looking away. Looking south? The grass is greener there. Low hanging clouds hid the sky, we said little, we invited the
silence, we sought comfort in the quiet. A couple of minutes longer. And the clouds parted, the sky released rain,
you said goodbye and promised to always carry home in your heart.
Photo by Jo Curtain