Let me remind you, as you walk my shores resentfully in coat and scarf, frowning into fresh winds and casting bitterness at the chill waves lapping by your feet; let me remind you, before you _go_ from this endless crunching shingle forwards into spring proper to count the coloured petals of chance, believing in birdsong, in calming cricket calls, to embrace the warmth of new love amongst soft sighing long grasses, sharing in the secrets of golden evening stars; let me remind you _now_ of how I kept your lonesomeness as a gemstone in the heart of distant mountains, safe from sorrow in moaning January caves, turning the temperature low for you, low for you, carefully laying snow for you, flake by quiet flake, knowing all the while the day would come when I should remind you of the long nights that saw us at one with the white moonlit horizon, walking my shores to the gentle lap of unfeeling icy waters; reminding you – at my risk, at my loss – that the spring will follow, the spring will follow; for you, my dear, the spring will come.
©James Bruce May, 2018
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