Weather

Every sound is wind

beating my ears

whipping across waves

rattling through grasses.

The sandhills are staggered

between screens of rain

pushing in from the sea.

Rocked by gusts

I sway through

clinging berries and battered

seed heads. The rainclouds

are thrust inland

and sun breaks into the gaps

shining the marram.

The great westerly blow

overpowers each stalk

tough and sharp

laying them in one sheet

of supple ripples.

Gulls struggle seaward

moored in the sky

then loosen and coast

surrendering. I turn

to the sun, it warms

my face, lets shadows

flit across my feet

returns my own shadow

to me, anchored,

a fair weather friend

but welcome.

Ainsdale  6th September