We walk the point

We walk the point, you and I.

I am distracted, I talk away, but you look out across the harbour.

“What are you looking for?” I ask, and let my words sink in the damp air.

“Whales,” you tell me, “or dolphins.” You stop me with a gesture and still the crunch of our feet on sand.

Through the swells we see them, cresting grey backs, a pod. You are entranced. One of them breaches and you gasp. I try, but I can’t see what amazes you. I pull out my phone and check the time.

The whales are gone and I walk on, but you remain, standing, looking out. I get back, light the fire and start dinner, and when you return, finally, we share a glass of wine.

At night, you snore quietly besides me under the sheets and I just lie there, listening to the waves and watching your face.