The sound of seagull shrieks, their ow, ow, oowl,
pierces through the swooshing wind and waves.
The hanging horizon, hazes into infinity;
its rolling waves reflect the rising sun.
A gentle warmth whispers around my ankles,
a welcome relief from home’s oncoming winter,
whilst the taste of breakfast, lingers on my tongue,
just as we lazily lingered over it. The scent
of salty ocean, a siren call, summons us
to stroll along its stretch and search its pools.

I’m writing, sat on our room’s balcony, admiring the southern Portugal coast.
(03.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024

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