After storm

the last breath

of the turning tide

leaves

scraps of fractured fronds

along the sand

Almost silence

We walked - the only sounds
the raven's croak, the oystercatcher's warning cry,
the wigeon's whistle
and the soft tread of our feet across the grass.

Sunrise

I watch
each morning's miracle
as the sun rises over Kintyre
and spreads its light
over sky and sea.
On days like this
I cannot find the words...

Merlin

I saw her resting on my garden fence
against a backdrop of the sea.

Too far away to take a better photograph
but close enough to see the pattern on her breast,
the barring on her tail
and when she left, the swiftness of her wings.

Tide line

waves roll in
leave a scalloped edge of bubbles
lingering,
sliding seawards
or sinking into sand.

Low tide

swaying kelp stems
catch the sun
fill the sea with stars

Wild, wet and windy

I open the door to rain,
wind-driven, stinging, cold.
I shiver -
delay my daily walk,
return to my writing.