When the wind blows
Gently from the sea
It whispers
In the golden gingko trees
Evoking memories
Of chance meetings
Still vivid, untouched
By time’s passing…

Perhaps it is the sangria
As well…or the moon
Spinning a spell,
But I remember Barcelona
And the Plaza Catalunya…
The sound of church bells…
An old man, sitting on a corner
Playing Spanish guitar,
In melodies
Of running water
And dark eyes
Twinkling with stars…

I remember her
Dressed in a maroon sweater
And charcoal skirt riding
High on the thigh…
She was a delight to the eye!

We made no declarations
Nor promises we knew
We could not keep
But shared conversations,
Love, childhoods and futures
In days of Mediterranean blue
And nights of deep
Intimacy and wonder…

I remember our final meeting,
Standing embraced, by the sea
As she said to me…
When the wind blows in from the sea
It always brings fond memories…

It all seems like a lifetime ago,
Or perhaps just a fantasy…
An old man dreaming in the glow
Of missed opportunity…
And yet, when the wind blows
In from the sea
I wonder
If she
Remembers
Me?

© ewrichardson 2008