PETRA’s
ASHES
There were no voices. There was no one this late
on a winter’s afternoon down by the ocean. Just mist, rock and sand. Gulls sitting into the wind on
the bluffs.This was hallowed ground.
Or so he believed.
They used to come here. Watch the surf beat the sands.
Run, he
heard his old voice say to no one .
They had
been here. Many times. He clutched a small cardboard box in his arms.. He felt
the years fall away in the greying air.
A thousand years had passed and he had seen this day. And mourned then. But no one was
here to see us now.
Dust to
dust, golden kings, shatter into stone. It was the song of the ages. Of time
and years marching by.
Ancient ones
are lost and gone. The stars we saw will live again.
Dark the skies
they weep lament for you.
Maybe even
for me, the old man mused.
There were
no faces here. No footsteps to echoe. Light of the sand, in burning winter skies. He closed his eyes. Salt
spray flecked onto his face.
I feel you here. Your eyes in the night. You
see my heart. You always saw my heart. The
sun was fading before him.
He opened
his cardboard box…..
Run, he heard
himself say. Faces fade, time moves on, glass shatters sand.
She grew slower
and older. And he grew older and a bit slower.
Dark the
skies they weep lament for you.
In ash
forever sleep.
He looked
for the perfect spot. For her favourite spot. Just above the shoreline, where the waves
gently touched the rocky sand.
He opened
the box and let the ashes disappear into the waves.
All that was
left was the sound of water burbling
over stones.
Run, he said
to no one in particular.
And in the
dusk he thought he saw her, running and leaping over the sand like she used to.
She turned to him. She hesitated in the mist. In the sand. On the shoreline.
Run, he said
again…..as she vanished into the waves.
Photographs 2022
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