Heading down through the sandy vally of windmills and ribbons of blue and beautiful women in bellowing green silk dresses and miles of smiles, the tide,that heavy tide, flowing, the sky, blue, so blue and wind blowing those white stained sails like tiny lights of distant cities, far far, far away,messing about with that distant horizon, little white tight sails and little fluffy white clouds and I know, your on the wooden deck dressed in black and white and striped tee shirt, and waving back, with your own smile,and white cap, its not it was, its just not is was, but still is to me, the wind mills and our memory.