Clouds follow us. Solemn oil tankers turn slowly in a bay
the size of London. Masses of sunlight sparkles on the water;
angel-light. Sometimes the wind gets my neck; drives the moisture
from my tonsils. Sometimes the swallows swish so close – like flies.
A mixed bag of weather today.
I’m still tired from yesterday’s hike;
my legs drained; doing robot.
It’s my last day here for a while;
missing you already;
trying not to think of home.