The Fifth Season

Down on the catwalk at dusk the wind brings
the first skin-tint of ice from the far south
and gulls swoop motionless in its mouth. The tide
snorts over the restaurant steps at the beach,
the rolling swells swing great clouts of spray
high against the rocks. For this small cove
in the flung arms of mountains and for you and I
my dear, a season is about to begin.