Scolt Head Island

... you can see the Warden's hut on the left
Couldn't decide again which to blip as main photo so added an extra
And here is another poem by Kevin Crossley-Holland, part of the 'Moored Man' series which remind me of aboriginal stories of how landforms are born ...

Moored Man: Making the Island
 
Why?
Because it welled up - a single keen wave
out of the flatcalm of his mind.
 
He squelched and splashed north.
He waded out
a mile and more
up to his thighs, his hips.
 
Why?
To see felicity.
 
On the hazy bar he began.
With both feet he scratched and scraped
like a wild sea-cat covering its faeces,
until his ankles were bloody and raw.
 
Then he kicked. He kicked.
 
Why?
So the Polar reach
would end in his ears.
 
The gravel flew and dropped,
it swarmed and swirled like chaff
in the murky water.
Longshore drift did the rest.
Pebbles and grit swam
and settled in new stations.
They rose above themselves
out of the water.
 
Schschschhh-huh!
Soft echoes in the cavern of his mouth.
 
Time and wind.
 
A shining cap of sand!
Sea-kale, tugging at its roots.
Sea-holly, growing beautiful
as it grows old.
 
Sss-sk! Sss-sk!
He strikes sounds on his sandpaper tongue.
Sss-sk! Tt! Tt!
 
The sun draws its blade
over his welling land.
 
Why?
Because it was not there.
 
He stares at his island
and knows he is beautiful.