The cool fingers of night air caress the cheek as the west wind sighs. The white horses slumber beneath the rippling silken waves which gently glide over the rocks stirring the amber ribbons of kelp. The siren songs of the sylkies weave their enchantment and silence the strident, amorous croaks of the Corncrakes. Slowly the sun sinks edging the indigo clouds with burnished gold, suffusing the sea with rose. We are entering the twilight, the white nights, time for solitude, reflection and memories of long-lost loves.
Beautiful!
🙂
Delightful use of the English language, Christine, as we have come to expect – but what does the Head Gardener think about you pining for your long-lost loves..?
Poetic licence? 😉
Lovely words and a beautiful photograph 🙂
The evenings are lovely at present, one could breathe one’s last watching the sunset and not notice!
Stunning sunset and beautiful prose to match.
Thank you, but I can’t take credit the sunset.