I tie the string of my hood against the cold, damp mist
I am here chasing shadows in this Godforsaken
place because of a promise to a dying man
and an X on a crude map, although I know
you can't borrow memories.
I am on a muddy path skirting a drop to the sea.
I hear the thundering crash of heaving waves
assaulting the cliffs below.
'The Fury of Poseidon' he called them.
I sit on a rock to rest and my gaze turns to the sea.
Suddenly, I behold its awful majesty
–like a seascape masterpiece.
Shafts of celestial-like beams from a jealous
sun pierce the leaden clouds and frost
the angry waves with silver icing.
Energized, I descend the hill, stunned by the sight.
The lighthouse. The sea-washed cottages. His village.
From its lofty perch, a lone seagull surveys his domain
A boat's last remains garnish the rocky beach.
In my mind's eye, I see wives tending to the
sun-dried herring–always looking to the sea.
I look up and smile. Grandad, you old seadog. Thanks.
Today I made memories of my own.
The lighthouse flame was snuffed out by time
but its beacon has guided you to your eternal home port