Scolt Head

After sorting stuff and a trip through to the Hospice at Home shop (and thinking about a recent interview where a chap was talking about the culture of self questioning and self reflection that exists within Medecin sans Frontiers), I treated myself to a half at one of dad’s favourite pubs and then decided to dig out my waders and head out to the island as the tide times are just right.

The great thing about waders is they give added protection against blasts from Siberia. I honed my skills at taking shots with my nose so I didn’t have to take my gloves off. Tides, mud, shifting channels and a longish walk out make this a remote, wild, and wonderful place and one where, at a time like this, I know I will be the only one there and for miles in each direction (if you look at yesterday’s shot this is in the distance and separated from the mainland by the channel that forms Burnham Overy harbour. Once on the island I walked along the shore where this shot was taken and lost track of time. Made it back for sunset (extra).

Moored Man: Making the Island - Kevin Crossley-Holland

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.