You could hear the sound of bird wing.
A Sea Eagle sweeping
A Dolphin leaping.
Sea – a great swatch of interference colour,
Opalescent, blue and then orange in my peripheral vision.
The door open.
Kris and Ray give welcome
As though I was the Prodigal Son.
Such is their style in all they do.
Pass the intimateArtGallery
Into the communal gathering space.
Fireplace, leather lounge, books on cookery dominate free standing shelves.
Demonstrates the passion, flare and personality of the cook.
Nourishes the soul.
On the bench, Mulberry, Frangipani tart,
Gold foil hued biscuits.
A pan of fish on the stove,
Dutch potatoes being smashed.
Vivaldi music gently permeates the air.
I sit and drink my tea.
The D’Entrecateux Channel now forms relief patterns.
My miniscule notebook/sketchbook is being scribbled in.
Like Flaubert, I observe intently,
Oh! If I could only find the right word!
Just a squawk and a misplaced vowel from me.
People arrive by sail boat.
Fisherman, tourists looking lost,
A bevy of women flock to a corner,
One with great presence and authority,
Ambience has changed.
Ruby red wine, bubbling white.
The fish is served, utter simplicity.
I give thanks to being in this place.
Individual taste and flavours give me hope.
I get up, say ‘Au revoir’ and walk up the road to home.