(0)bon Port Poem by Sailing to windward

Sparsely topped, the bright hill stretches green.
Before us,Renoir's bay of impossible beauty
shelters, one hundred and fifty feet below.
And we live here

There's one shadow shade, of brown pink rock,
for every craggy foot of the fall -
And in the middle distance gulls wheel tiny,
sounding and sized, to this world

A way off, in the corner far,
the etching tide draws down
to flash,in gold and silver,
the promise of a jewel filled beach

Hand in hand, in mind alone,
we sip the scene, hoping further
natural triumphs will, in time unfurl;
because we live here.