poet. writer. imposter.
Saltwater seethes from the Black Isle
to tease an endless beach; sea touching sky
with a palette of blue green and haze grey.
Rothko shimmers quickening the landscape
painting waves in roiling torment.
Tide low, the white caps swell and claw,
hand over hand; ceaseless; desperate
to free themselves from the deeps
and reach the receding dry land. Sand –
uncaring – shifts like hard mist skittering,
dancing, leaving ripple tracks to be planed
smooth by a philistine moon on the next
flood. The dunes wait for the gambolling
winds to slow shudder them from the shore,
but are held back from pasture by an apology
of buckthorn between high-tide and rye.
The threat of spring fills the harbour
with skiffs, dinghies and yachts waiting
to shred the peart colourfields and fill
the silent beach where Chaplin played…
This is beautiful.
Picture and poem, lovely
I spent my schoolday holidays in Nairnshire.. Super pic and words.
Thank you. I’ve only been once, but what a beautiful place! Definitely going back soon.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Breath-taking images of this landscape. Love your references to Rothko and Chaplin. Question on the next to the last stanza…did you mean, instead of “shudder them from the shore,” shuttle them (the dunes) to the shore? excuse my confusion on this image
Hi Joyce, thanks for the kind words. Much appreciated. A quick word about the shudder/shuttle phrase. I was fascinated by the interpaly of the wet sand that looked like ripples on the water, and the top layer of those ripples that had dried and were being blown around by the wind. As the sand fell from the top of the ripple, into the adjacent trough, it looked like the dunes were trying to slough dead skin. It reminded me of a natural history documentary I had seen about a snake shedding its skin. The timelapse photography making the snake move and shudder. So the shuddering motion appeared to move the sand. Hope that makes sense. 🙂