I drive to the Domaine du Dattier racing time.
I find a deserted spot overlooking a calanque, an old tower, and a clear view to the islands off the coast and park the car.
I must say good bye to the sun.
I want to connect to everything that is beautiful and life giving.
I need to feel this moment.
So I am staying to watch the sun go down.
I have to face a coming darkness.
I feel the loss already.
There is always more to the solstice than just the shortest day…
The Med wears her mourning early.
In matte pewter grey she links her cliffs
To islands in the distance.
Billows ring the sky on the horizon
And spread upwards slowly
Moving closer to shore
In a sad indigo light.
She watches him, her embattled sun,
Sink half-way below the foggy bank
Split and tear on his way down.
Old angers flash
Smolder and singe attending clouds.
The sea barely ripples
Stands still, wishes time away.
Hanging on to the last rays
Of her forever love
She can neither move nor wave.
The islands become shadows.
The mountainside flattens
Loses its crags and streambeds
Houses fade, bleak and soulless.
He is going down fast now
And reaches for her one last time.
He pours a long, thin river of gold,
The life line of his love.
She feels it sear her skin,
And holds it unblinking.
Then he is gone.
Silence hangs in a bloody sky
Until a choked cry breaks it.
Melusine’s wails run through the woods
Tumble into the leaded sea.
The Med silently tends her grief
As a far-off lighthouse comes to life.