Sandcastles

Glinting a shade of amber,On the boundary of gold,Eyes fixate at summer rays,The last ones bright and bold. Feet dig deep in golden ground,Hands carve onto sand,The wind whistles in ears both,And drops dead to the land. The summer sun will always set,The wind will always die,Does not mean winter will not,For it always passes…

The storm

DUSK: The river meets the sea freshwater meets salt, they flow into each other and the scene’s at halt. Mist hangs overhead the visibility’s low, I’m over water and I row, row, row. 10:00 am: The sun has now risen and perforated the fog, in this labyrinth of archipelagos I am but a frog. 11:00…