Dusk
Looking towards Brancaster ... and then the sunset (extra). I couldn't for the life of me decide which one to put up as the main blip but this one seemed to fit the poem by local poet Kevin Crossley-Holland which refers to Burnham Overy, just a few miles along the coast.
Today was mum's 86th birthday ... I think we had to remind her 86 times at least ....
Dusk, Burnham Overy Staithe - Kevin Crossley-Holland
The blue hour ends, this world
floats on a great stillness.
I only guess where marsh
finishes and sky begins,
each grows out of the other.
In the creek a slip
of water gleams. Rowboats
bob and swing above the mud,
the barnacled and broken
ribs of Old Stoker's boat.
A wedge of gulls rustles
overhead, and for a moment
the water notices them.
Such calm is some prelude.
Then the marsh it comes,
the sound as of an endless
train in a distant cutting,
the god working his way back,
butting and shunting,
reclaiming his territory.
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