Wet touch.

Liquid lines around the shore;

Wet touch.

A stranger until we’re in danger.

Light dances across the water –

following a plane.

Seven lights blink, not in sync, broken across the bay.

The smell of tobacco stains the air.

Breathing-in and out-heart unmatched; rhythm.

Toe tapping.

Gravel scraping.

A headlight shines through the musk of night.

Laughter cranes the atmosphere, just hanging, hoping.

Hands throw gestures in the sky.

What am I missing?

A passenger seat glance.

An eight-ball’s chance.

Wet touch.

M.

Hot crow

I’m hoping that’s not a less-than-kosher saying in other parts of the world, I simply combined two things that I took notice to today; the heat and a crow. Though I can’t show you a picture of the heat, I’ve attached Ms. Crow.  It got up to 35’c here at one point today – for those who shiver when they think of Labrador, the joke’s on you lol.

Enjoy the pics. Be back later.

M.