A Welsh New Year

A Welsh New Year The night's dark shadow creeps softly over the sky. Dark, soft fingers pull slowly at the light, fully engulfing it into it's dark mass. The wind whips off the sea. Snatching and releasing, pushing and pulling. Rough and unforgiving. Wild as our hearts, beating quickly in the night. The wooden walls groan in around us. A ship, forever docked, deeply into the cliff. A yearning spirit hides in anticipation behind each eye, quivering in excitement and childish glee. When finally, one scuttling figure jumps from the couch and out the door. We chase him, fleeting feet and unruly rain jackets, across the courtyard and towards the wild sea. The wind's intensity grows with the seconds. We stop, finally, when we reach the light. It flashes, giant and glowing. The sea roars far below us and the wind thrashes and screams in our ears. I feel as if it could lift me off my feet and carry it as far as it pleased. Clinging tightly to whoever is closest, we stand in silent awe. But it only last one flickering moment, before we're dashing back to the warm safety of the indoors. But when the morning comes, and all putter around the kitchen, little fragments of the night still remain. A crumpled flag of the living room floor. Muddy shoes scattered on the cold entranceway. The quick sprawled footprints in the sand. And a lone wine-glass of water, on a disheveled bedside table. Gentle smiles pass through the house, and the steady sea beats rhythmically on. related link: http://thearyan.com/category/poem/