Sea House

Little sea house,
when I found you,
the yellow poppies
were nodding round you.
Your blue slate hat
that the four winds
came to tug at
over the tamarinds:
I remember it well:
the salmon-nets drying –
laugh, violin-shell,
and cease crying!
For I will return,
through the sea-haze:
I am sailing back there
always, always.
Hamish Maclaren, 1929

This little house is right at sea level, has two private beaches, a little quay and often gets a bit of a hammering if the wind is from the south east. Today all calm, crisp and even and another lovely if cold day.

The news from America has preoccupied most thoughts today. That shameful, hateful man.