The Line of Beauty

Always there is a line- the line of water along the beach, going and coming Dunkirk and Dover. Always the line with the foam edging the cloud break. Always there is a line- a lifetime of memories they come and they go, gently returning to cause a surprise on the edges of life and future happenings. There is always a line along the river, my Thames, the ebb and the flow, the rise of the tides. And suddenly, the geese lift off with raucous calls and the heron gently dives. There is always a line,- the shadow of the birds on the surface the commas stretching on the water the whisper of life down in the depths under the muddy brown. Always there is a line reflecting the summer clouds on the pond and the puddle. Mackeral fleeting with the swallow lemon curdle of the rising sun and the red-gold of the setting. There is always a line along the life of memory.