There's a familiarity in the way
cold blows in from sea.
Drapes rise
Float on the winds breath
then fall
Rustling the room in a just-
remembered-song.
Autumn has settled
her undecided wings.
Her gilded feathers grew tired
hovering
above this restless summer.
Smoke now unfurls through chimneys
the scent of peat moss burning
lays low
and heavy on the sky.
Too cold to swim, holiday-makers no longer
line the beach
their children's mouths full
of sandy smiles and ice-cream.
The Russian Circus has moved on to Spain,
Raven's Point belongs again
to the steady few
who love the Sea and her many
changing faces.
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