There is a song at the waters edge
There are pebbles on vacant sands
There are swirls where the streams of water head towards the sea
There are people, why wouldn't there be
The beauty of this beach idyll is then all but beaten out of me, by Kate's insistence that we carry on walking in the rain, towards a small dwelling, with four windows and a door
I go along with the daftness for a while, but finally insist on returning to the hotel
Kate walks to my left side, taking shelter from the persistent rain; my right side becomes soddened
At the cross roads we turn right, now we walk directly into the wind, and the slanting rain
Kate takes shelter, she walks, just short of a rainfalls depth, behind me; my front becomes entirely soddened
A calm emerges, clear light ahead
There are songs in my head
There are stones for my feet to kick
There are puddles
Ideal for children like me and Kate to skip and splash in
There are people
Why wouldn't there be
