Winds Blow Hard

Something still calls me back here, every year or so
Usually late, late autumn, just before the snow
Leaning on the ferry railing, salt spray in my face
I keep thinking back on you, who draws me to this place
It’s you, it’s you

Winds blow hard this time of year
Kicking things around
Stirring up the whitecaps
Bringing back the sounds
Of final conversations
Crying through the night
Harbor bells are ringing
Whispering a sigh
Goodbye

The house is barely standing, porch is all caved in
A tree limb fell and crushed the roof where our room would have been
Listening to the gulls as they soar, on their glistening wings
A seashell in the dune grass, you turn and smile at me
That smile, that smile