By Tim Cresswell
first the carnage
silverwhite trees wave-toppled and gale-gusted
strewn along the beach sun bleached dinosaur bones
next the balancing acts of stonestacks a lone conifer
clings to invisibly thin soil knots of bull-kelp
like spilled leviathan seed fetid and fly-ridden anemones in rock pools
beckon me to finger their sticky tongues
a bald eagle circles hounded by ravens
we keep on holding on hoping for the best
settling for something like circumstance
in the black basaltic sand mingled with milk white
and amber agates smooth ground sea glass jewels
amongst the fallen trunks clunking chunks of rusted ship-iron
scattered fishing floats a black plastic buoy
a walker tells me of the wreck
the Chilean ship the marker round the headland for the drowned
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My Monday was not exciting. Paul had a morning dentist appointment, so I sorted clothes while he was out -- after a year here, I have a much better idea of what needs to go to Goodwill vs what I wear -- and reassured the cats that they had not been abandoned and could let me make the bed. Then I did a bunch of computer work, and after lunch, we walked in the mist to the beach.
Cheryl and I watched last night's excellent Interview with the Vampire together -- we both missed it watching Daniel Radcliffe win his Tony Award -- then I started watching the new season of Grantchester, where I will miss Will, but I thought I'd never stop missing Sidney, then forgot all about him. Rialto Beach in the evening, including me posing as son with kelp from 2005:
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