Where deepest green meets grains of gold.
Brightest blue reflects in cooling seas.
The most beautiful place I know.
Winding through the hills
On a road narrow and fragile.
Dust clouds surround our load.
Cicadas herald our arrival.
We drive through the avenue
Of English trees planted years ago.
The sun beats down. Our clothes feel sticky.
As possessions tumble around the car and trailer.
The children vanish into thin air.
They will return. Occasionally.
To eat some more.
The only signs of their existence.
Dishes on the table.
Wet towels on the floor.
Meanwhile it is us. Mum and Dad.
Who build a castle out of canvas and boxes.
The sounds of metal on metal ring out across the bay
As poles are assembled. Tent pegs hammered home.
Beds are made. Kitchen organised.
The lounge is on the beach.
My work is done.
For two weeks I live here,
Off the grid as they say.
There is no electricity.
Perfect for recharging the batteries.
Before packing it all up.
And driving back to the city.
Until next year.
When we will come again.
I wrote this poem about a place very dear to me. I go there tomorrow. I won’t be able to blog while I am away. But I am sure I will have plenty to say upon my return. Until then.