The surf pounds against the shore, and with it the wind, occasionally lulled between the sets, it’s white petticoat of froth illuminated in the twilight. Out over the darkening sea to the East my old friend appears. Golden and rounded to his fullest and slightly cloaked in smouldering clouds he rises slowly against the horizon. Proud and strong he surveys all before him, watching down with his old man smile to see what has become over the last month. All is well as I listen to the sigh of the waves as he breathes his golden spangled light over the dancing sea. It’s good to see you old friend.