Outer Hebrides: The Lighthouse

The setting sun has painted pink highlights onto the clouds
As everything gets darker a bright dot on the horizon becomes more prominent
I count slowly
31 it is there again
The dot

A tiny sign of hope
A reminder you are not lost
No matter how far out you paddled
In this tiny boat of yours

You are anchored
In entirety
Nowhere is still somewhere
If this is where you are right now

An Evening

My First Try in ASMR Poetry

An Evening—an ASMR Poem

Evening air caresses my skin, gently, like your finger tips usually do.
Calmness settles in as the open window offers a stage for my little robin’s song.

My inner eye shows his curious bobbing, little toes clicking on the garden table as he settled in to watch me work, following the rhythmic tapping of my keyboard. He was silent then. Watching. His tiny feathers a cloud of softness around a sharp beak and bright eyes.

This was earlier, when the sunshine tickled my nose.

Now. I am done working.
Content silence is interrupted by fresh sheets rustling when I move.
Cool cotton on warm skin.
The breeze picks up ever so slightly.
I can feel my breath slowing down.
And with heavy eyes, I watch the dusk embrace our garden trees.
The little robin is still singing to me.
I find my toes playing with the fresh washed sheets, clench, let go, clench, let go … let go.
And so I drift into sleep, a cool breeze still holding me gently in her arms.

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