Summer’s turning cold
even with a southern breeze
and crazy seagulls mock a falling day
expecting winter fish
but children still bob like seals in the cool sea
or skim flat stones from a beach,
reaching for a sense of water.
In the wind, kites fly up, parallaxing clouds
and hot smoke leaps away from chimney stacks.
Grounded, sixteen old and puddled tables
that could fodder more than a hundred people
At dusk, an archetypical truth;
this place is water, air and fire and earth.