Xanadu is a bay,
With two horizons.
The sun arrives from one side and leaves from the other,
Unhurried,
Keeping its ancient rhythm.
Black sand meets your feet,
Warm and grounding.
In the distance,
Mountains rise,
Their peaks softened by wisps of cloud.
At low tide,
When clouds gather overhead,
The smooth black beach becomes a mirror,
Reflecting the sky on its surface,
Cloud for cloud.
You walk there,
Unsure where the beach ends and the sky begins,
The boundary thinning until land and air appear to share the same space,
An illusion held just long enough to slow your steps and keep you there.
Palm trees lie on the edge of the shore,
Heavy with coconuts,
Their shadows stretching and retreating as light moves slowly across the bay.
Nothing here asks anything of you,
Nothing expects an answer.
If you arrive lonely,
The place understands.
This is not the loneliness of lack,
But the kind that wild places can hold.
Here,
Solitude isn't empty,
It's complete.
The oceans warm,
Some days the surface calm enough to hold you,
To let you float on your back and give your weight to the sky until your thoughts loosen and your breath finds its own pace.
Other days the waves are playful,
Lifting you,
Releasing you again and again,
Inviting movement without urgency,
Inviting you to stay as long as the light allows.
Scarlet macaws pass through without warning.
They land briefly in nearby trees,
Crack open nuts,
Call sharply to one another,
Then lift off together,
Quick flashes of red cutting across the blue,
Gone before you decide whether to follow them or simply watch.
Sunrises and sunsets return each day,
Never the same.
Sometimes you meet them from the water,
Sometimes while walking the shore.
Sometimes you watch them set,
Sitting on the beach or floating in the water,
Watching colours spread and fade.
After the sun's gone,
The sky doesn't empty at once,
It lingers.
Colour thins and deepens,
Soft purples settling into the blue,
Faint traces of orange and gold held briefly at the horizon,
As if the light is deciding how much of itself to leave behind.
The beach seems to exhale,
Heat loosens from the sand,
The air softens.
What was held through the day is gently released and everything settles into its evening shape.
Nothing announces this moment,
It arrives quietly,
Until the day releases its final warmth.
And you imagine the sun rising elsewhere,
Rising above another shore,
Another stretch of water,
Another life beginning its day,
As night settles in.
Different hour,
Different world.
The same light,
Moving on,
Without hurry.
Small green parrots return in flocks to roost.
Too dark now to see them,
But easy to hear,
Noisy as they settle into the palms around the bay.
Wings brushing leaves,
Chattering,
Overlapping,
Life gathering itself inward,
Until there's only the whisper of waves.
By then,
Your body knows what to do.
You're tired in the best way,
Limbs heavy,
Loosened by the waves and the sea,
And the steady presence of the bay.
You lie down,
Exhausted,
And your thoughts empty themselves into the night air,
Leaving nothing behind.
At Xanadu,
Loneliness loosens its grip,
The place is enough.
Enough to fill what felt empty,
Enough to offer solace without naming it.
And at the end of the day,
You leave lighter than you arrived,
By water,
By sky,
Of nothing needing you to be anything else.
