Sundownandout

Ships loiter along on the horizon, in the hazy pink, lazy pink tired hot day. Windmills stand stock-still out at sea, all spent and nothing doing, now that the day is closing its eyes. Pier broken off, burnt remnants sitting it out, stubborn dead wood waiting offshore to be invited back home. Silhouettes dotted along the shore claiming the sky as their own, holding the colours and air between outstretched arms. Headlights swing carelessly around the headland across the bay, behind the once-grand crescent hotel where the cracks creep up the walls, ready to bring it all down. Night time brings the wind-breaks down and the crying babies are taken home after wailing for an hour past their bed-time while mum and dad drink tins on the benches overlooking the sea, because the sea belongs to them, if only for this moment. Teenagers strut the sand, lighting cigarettes and disposable barbecues, playing tinny music on their phones which hold a thousand posed grinning photographs that show how happy and tanned they have been today. Instant memories to prove the day’s worth. Swear words strewn across the sand along with the trail of empty cider cans, marking a path from happy beginnings to sorrowful angry heated ends. Storms are coming and we can feel it on our skin. Electric heat lifts hairs on backs of necks as fingers tentatively lift edges of linen and cotton tumbles to the floor in folds. Lazy crescent moon hardly lifts above the horizon and recedes across the harbour, deepening from gold to red as it disappears after only visiting for an hour or two. Heat and electricity on our skin, bringing hands together and lips begin the long night’s gentle work, making tapestries of touch and skin.