Thirty-six Panes of Glass

The blue scape was in itself entrancing but soon one was mesmerised by the unchanging vista and the mind wondered to other things. The sea blurred and distractions consumed thoughts whereby the vista was no longer of consequence. Seated by the open window, framed by its thirty-six panes of glass the pattern of daydreaming was firmly established.
Thoughts, not bound by doors, walls or roads, took me back to the recently visited estate overlooking the harbour. The homestead hedged and gardened with lawns sweeping across the cliff top, jarred the historic relic to times past. Was it secretly yearning to connect with an uncertain future?
Haunting sobs from the upstairs bedroom reminded one that real, living people once walked its hallways and scampered across the grass and pathways braced against the wind's biting tongues.
Had the sheep grazing in the distance noticed Julian's mother slipping into the garden? Still chiding herself that so simple a pleasure could end in tragedy.
Silently now, she stood and gathered her cloak to her cheeks. Her cheeks revealed her anguish. Tears shed wearily would not change the cold hard earth that embraced Julian. The white marble headstone etched with few details to explain the laughter, life and energy now lost. Two years, eleven months and fourteen days. The little hands and face that so trusted a much loved hound, silenced.
Grim reminders that life goes on. The children returned from their morning lessons.
Overhead a seagull cried. Eyes sought the here and now. Once again the blue scape craved attention. The past forgotten. Yellow sands called.
Yellow sand rimmed the bay. Rocks balanced and stacked to protect the shore. Footfalls left no trace. Shells crackled and shattered with every step. Matted brown, seaweed clumps carpeted the edge of the tidal litter. Skeletons of tiny crabs dotted the surface.
A parched stick of driftwood upended one corpse. No visible signs to show reasons for its demise, to justify its fate. Along with numerous others they lay, some face down while others suggested preparedness to scuttle at a moment's notice.
Sun broke through the cloud. For the first time there was a realisation that the sand was the brightest white. Not yellow. Cloud cover deceived perception. Warming strides invited further passage.
Stones rounded and smooth sparked in the growing sunlight. Bending to grasp a small black stone; a stone that had presented itself. It appeared to be pasted with glitter by an unknown hand. Over one shoulder we looked back, the nut rose. Its strength obvious. Its girth bold. There was no comparison between the two.
The silence and warmth of the walk was enjoyed by my companion and I. Not remarkable but invigorated by the shared activity.
Suddenly and unexpectedly from a sandy side track a couple emerged. Hands in pockets, hooded heads hastened towards us. Perhaps their daily ritual? There was a familiarity in their task. A small yappy dog was unleashed. It ran in circles along the sand. The white sands could not compete. We withdrew. The magic broken.
Returned to those thirty-six panes of glass coffee was poured. Sun showers drifted along the bay. Tiny droplets gave way to splashes of rain that licked the glass. Warming coffee sipped and once again there was a reacquaintance with the vista.
Gathered thoughts. The cycle repeated. Imagined journeys ...Sometime during that cycle one submitted to human elements. Eating, drinking, dining, partaking, all acknowledged the basic need of man to consume food. Food chosen or selected from a plethora of options. Intermission scheduled and concluded. 
Satiated we returned to the window.
Night replaced day. Stars replaced the sun as one sat by those thirty-six panes of glass. Bay lights twinkled more brightly than the stars. Red and green buoys instructed water craft to safest journeys. No moon shone.
Movement below. A tuxedo dressed fairy. Had I daydreamed from day to night? No blurred blue horizon. Jack blackness where the street lamps lights failed to illuminate the ground between the land and the sea.
Strained eyes stared into the gloom. One little fairy, tentative in its evening's feeding darted in and out of my view. Seated quietly by the windows one couldn't help but will it, one little fairy, to move closer to the arc of light.
Surely nervous of predators or man had cautioned its movements. Dim light prevented accurate tracking. Imagined loneliness in its solitary feeding habit too soon it vanished. One little fairy left. It had moved on. I had wanted more from our brief encounter.
A plover called below. It was not a fairy. I had guessed wrong. I had imagined a relationship with a fanciful creature. Unexpected. Disappointed. I left that window.
Timed meetings. Timed relationships. Some longer than others. Closure. I left those thirty-six panes of glass.
Time to explore new vistas. Time to sleep. Tie to dream.
Awakened and compelled to search glass panes once more. Looking skyward and to the horizon. Shades of grey painted both clouds and sea. 
I had a duty to sit and watch. Glass so easily shatters. Take care. Be selective in what you choose to view.