They slow when off the mudflats and some don’t sail at all
preferring to sit in contemplation of the day,
watching the tide, waiting to ride high again.
The yachts, sleek, smooth and yet rippled around the hulls as if each small wave pulls a bit of reality from this scene and the dinghies, oh they bob and bend like waiters around a table and the salt marsh on the other side leaves a tangy taste in the air.
It’s a long time since I’ve sat there and supposed my life was like that, like the yachts and the dinghies and the mudflat, but it feels like yesterday, everything feels like yesterday.
© 2019, John Smallshaw.