It's possible to determine the seasons here
by what is washing up on the beach. The tides
bring oyster shells in early summer,
multitudes of itty bitty crabs
and the particular seaweed that prints red on cloth.
Driftwood is plentiful
bleaching & cracking like rough skin in the sunshine.
It's heaven for the dogs. Quinn is exuberant over her stick-chasing swims
while Isla is content to quietly sniff every log
up and down the shoreline for as long and as far as you'll let her.
enjoyed while I beach comb.
A lovely poem flew into my mailbox this morning from American Life in Poetry.
Although referencing the other coast, there's a truth here
to be found on all of them ... and within all of us.
I thought you might enjoy it.
It’d been a long winter, rags of snow hanging on; then, at the end
of April, an icy nor’easter, powerful as a hurricane. But now
I’ve landed on the coast of Maine, visiting a friend who lives
two blocks from the ocean, and I can’t believe my luck,
out this mild morning, race-walking along the strand.
Every dog within fifty miles is off-leash, running
for the sheer dopey joy of it. No one’s in the water,
but walkers and shellers leave their tracks on the hardpack.
The flat sand shines as if varnished in a painting. Underfoot,
strewn, are broken bits and pieces, deep indigo mussels, whorls
of whelk, chips of purple and white wampum, hinges of quahog,
fragments of sand dollars. Nothing whole, everything
broken, washed up here, stranded. The light pours down, a rinse
of lemon on a cold plate. All of us, broken, some way
or other. All of us dazzling in the brilliant slanting light.
~ by Barbara Crooker
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photo processing notes:
images shot with iPhone
double exposure created with Diana Photo app
copyright added online with PicMonkey
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... and if you've ever dreamed about walking the entire coastline of the UK
have a peek over on Ruth's Coastal Walk blog.
She's just been to Rhossili Beachand you will not believe the unspoiled beauty ....