Ode to that little bridge in the Dutch light.
I remember it because it was the first time we met on that bridge in that park in Rotterdam.
What was the name? I can't remember, but I still can see your face in that famous sinking Dutch light.
It changes the color of everything.
That light. Draped around you like the cape of the Scarlet Pimpernel as you talked about your rugby days with the nostalgia of an old man looking back on his life at the end of his days.
You smelled like cigarettes and Terre d'Hermes mixed with the briny dark waters of the Rotterdam Harbor.
The fading sunlight on that little bridge in the park I can't remember changed your face. It magnified your geometric jaw, softened by one insistent dimple sitting proudly where it needed to be.
I remember because you leaned in to whisper in my ear and I could see the Dutch light settling in between our faces, dividing you from me.
So close.
The light dimmed a little. It downshifted into a more serious shade of orange and purple.
You kept leaning closer, but you weren't talking about Rugby anymore.
You were inaudible.
I could see your mouth moving, your lips glistening in the light, but I don't remember what you were saying.
I watched the light grab your words and bounce them into the coming dusk.
That mischievous, low Dutch sun dimmed itself without warming, revealing your face in mesmerizing high definition.
You whispered, walk with me.
The words lingered. I think I flushed and blushed.
Suspended by the last rays of the light, I reached out to touch those words you spoke as they drifted between us, but they were floating onto a sinking sunbeam.
I could see your face smiling back at me, dimples in full dimple mode.
As you took my hand to walk over that little bridge in the park I can't remember in Rotterdam, I turned to see the last of the Dutch light from the sun take a bow.
On its last rays, we walked into the starry night.
Tonight, the light looks like you.
A friend
29/07/2025
