Imaginings

Gloaming.
The skirr of the birds almost inaudible, if I wasn't listening so hard.
Light leached from the sky, into the sea, foaming and booming eternally against the less eternal rocks.
My bones are clamped, granite nubs my knees.
Gums sucked, head raw.
There is a wind smacking my leached cheeks, and my fingers burrow.
When I squint my right eye shut everything is a Monet blur.