Riverside, Late January

A dragon's blood sunset foretold this day
of fair winds, gold water. The jet skiers
have been and gone — god-botherers mowing
the green river, cruising between bridge struts
to buzz at riffs of surf. Only the wind-clink
of moored catamarans, this mesmeric
lapping on sand as thoughts sink through the mind.
Too early yet to hold fast to summer
or long for its passing. Restive or serene,
the holidayers know the terrain now,
have their favoured sites and panoply
of pleasures — which, for today, an opal sun
on blue glazed with memories of cloud
ensures and protects, as if a lit tent.