We set out on a path
of wavy, winding light.
Cobblestones deeply grooved,
made more prominent
with tricks of photography,
voila! the finished product.

Skylarks in distant meadows
feed their young
nesting on the ground,
easy prey for red-winged
messengers in the early light.

Street lamps lit by ocean spray
small boats, helpless, in the rocky cove.
Abandoned relics
mute and silent
aside from the cries
of ravens and rooks
on hurried wings.

The glory of the sun retreats,
beauty in its own right.
Night falls.

We are spent.
Rest, now.

Rest.