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The day was dream-like in perfection –
a temperate and balmy day –
both sea and sky a distillate of ivory
and opal –
the Solent calm as Innocence asleep –
its yachts, somnolent in their drifting,
in clusters spread limp sails,
their multi-coloured spinnakers
like bright insertions in a pale and
lacquered plaque, translucently
illumed.

By Egypt light I knew the bliss
of absolute fulfilment – quite content
to be – to live that tranquil hour
in mental isolation from the peopled scene
of which I was a part – at peace with all,
demanding nothing.

Then Waverley, propulsive wheels
a-churn, to westward bound, intrusive
in its urgency, as if intent there
to generate nostalgia for a period
long passed, with busy plashes broke
the pond-still surface – marred
the atmospheric magic that inspired
my mood.

T. C. Hudson

© T. C. Hudson.

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