Winter Crow

By | 15 September 2022

(for J.C)

Lockdown, an empty beach
pockmarked with yesterday’s footprints,
now sculpted by morning tides
coarse sand, the coldest of grain.

Driftwood lingers, and a solitary crow
eying the movement of waves,
undeterred by silence, isolation
transience, its own chill cry.
Beyond the flatness, sand hills
come and go, your artist’s gaze
freezing the moment in time.

You send me the photograph
as you trudge the length of the beach
nothing happening but walking,
just you, the crow and the sea.

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