I still dream of the Solent’s bottle green,

of gentle sea splashing against the weed clad legs of the dark jetty.

Comes then a steal of wind carrying a kiss of the sea wetting your cheek,

as raucous rusted

ferry chains ring out over the darkening estuary.

 Roosted high upon her boatyard perch

a gull watches quietly from beneath downy white wing

as night pulls silence over the Medina  like a glittering blanket.

It was as though all the stars in heaven had fallen to earth in a rain of precious jewels.

River and sea set ablaze in a myriad of colour, flash dancing to the far shore whereupon they ascend safely back into heaven once more.