Day yielded unwillingly to a shower
of gray sky
where stars faintly blink for attention.
We sat on a rock by the sea, its warmth
reminded us of a cloudless August day.
Receding emerald green waves
wash over sand and shells
releasing whispering sandpaper voices
into the salt air we breathe.
Our words merge with the aroma of
grilled vegetables, glowing charcoal and
fireplaces warming cool hands;
the touching of silverware signals
the call to tables.
We capture this place, friends shaking hands,
never to part, always near, bonded in summer…
that summer; always mine.
Roger Singer 