Morning...

Angel,

The morning has come, gliding silent like a canoe on a glass still lake. Fog has settled thick and where the night was black, the day is grey and close. One cannot feel the sun nor even tell with any true certainty where it hangs in the sky. We are hushed under a grey silk blanket. the clock chimes the passage of time faster than our reality. We are slow to move, outside no one stirs, there is no bird song. The few birds in flight seem to be nervous and in a hurry to be somewhere else.

I will amble down the road toward the beach, the shape of a man, hooded against the damp chill of the early morning.  Even the sound of my footsteps is muted and swallowed up by the closeness of the morning. Once on the beach, the sandals come off so that I can feel the cool wet sand.

You are 2000 kilometers away and yet you have been with me here the whole time. The morning hangs melancholy around my neck like a sorrow as I walk the length of the beach. To hold your hand as we walked through the thick fog would change its complexion and entirely. 

These rolling magical mists would be instantly transformed from something that has stolen the world from us to something that shelters us from the world for a little while. We would walk hand in hand leaving playful parallel footprints in the sand except where we have stopped to face each other to steal a private kiss. The cool damp would disappear in the warmth of your palm in mine. 

In this grey envelope, we are alone in the world for a moment - sand, sea, and us. We would know the weight and expanse of the ocean at our feet though all we can see is one unbroken water-sky with no horizon. The shore we stand on stretches for an eternity and follows its own unbroken distance. We would stand on this shore together, close, fingers entwined, the water lapping at our feet. We would stand tall knowing that this world belongs to us. 

Here, and the feel of your cheek next to mine and the scent of you mingled with the salt air... Here and you...

Just me