Looking South

On a morning wings launch into a clifftops uplift of air and glide effortlessly above a distant coast. Tall waves break into foaming sweeps up beaches bare of footprints – a shadow cuts like a scythe across ancient sand. Enormous swells heave upwards where once clippers sailed southern ocean gales. A continent’s vast wound weeps into the sea. High above, the contrail of a passing jet crawls silently across a cloudless sky. An emptiness soon wipes it all away.