At the top of my favourite
Lakeland mountain
I catch the sea
glinting distant – flat and grey.
Peering from
the summit cairn
a far skein of steel
glints, communicating.
Of course, it’s nuts
to think the sea could really
communicate
although, when close,
it never stops talking,
waving and rushing,
supporting and killing;
impeccable, unrelenting
salt. Different from sand,
electricity or breath:
impossible to own,
upping the ante
- like love.
Beautiful write and yes indeed the sea does talk - oh how it beckoned me in as a child with its constant come to me, come to me as the waves rushed in and idled against the shore.
ReplyDeleteI am a follower I know - but have come here again by a random visit to Twitter - rarely visit Twitter as time waits for no man (or woman) and I use it as a (sometimes) pointer to my blog.
Can't gove as mich time to my blog as I would like to too - so do not visit the dashboard/interface daily - so nudge me now and again if you wish.
You have a son to be proud of and equally your son has a dad to be proud of.
Anna :o]
Lovely poem. The sea never ceases to communicate with us...it is part of us. Lola
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