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.