The blue horizon stretches on, as if it will never cease. A horizon represents so many things and conjures so many pictures, so as I sit here and watch it stretch endlessly, I find myself hopelessly hopeful. I am lost in the blue of the blue sky and the blue sea and the blue horizon, falling into the blue and feeling blue in the big blue ocean. And suddenly I see that this horizon is blue in so many ways, in the same ways that I am blue and deep and sad and hopeful. I will sit here for a while longer, watching the horizon stretch seamlessly between land and sky. And perhaps, in time, I will make sense of the blueness that I see and that I feel.

I sit here and watch as the sun and the sea and the sky become one, as the blue horizon blurs into everything that is. The Earth is blue, so we are told, and here it is. All that makes up our land, and all that makes up us is great, and vast, and blue. And yet, in our blueness, we remain as one. One people, one race, one life. We live here, on this blue planet with its blue horizon under a mutual legacy of love. But as we bask in love’s warm glow, we grow hot and tired and burnt. Love can sometimes turn to pressure, burden and angst. And still we stay together under our burden of love, together and separate in our indecision to stay and go and be and not be. As boundaries are broken, so our legacy is broken. And still, we are one.

I stay sat here, watching the horizon and the time that goes by. Here I am, watching the future. Or is it the past? Here I am, watching my present. An old hope births new hope as a new year is born. Hope, that strangest of things, that lives in the time that is to come, existing and forever existing over the hill and beyond the horizon. The blue horizon stretches on, as if it will never cease, endless and hopeless and hopeful.