The sea is roaring, softly roaring,
continuous and lovely in the silence
Never-ending lines of white, green, blue-green power rise up from the blue-grey expanse
gathering speed and noise before crashing out, arriving with a quiet but incessant whisper
The tide is turning, Ready to hide
once more what it had briefly revealed,
Each wavelet creeping ever more over footsteps left in the once pristine silver mirror
Washing the memory of others who have visited before
The lowering sun,
brilliant against the blue-white, yellow-white, white-white sky
Creates mirrors amongst the black, green-dressed rocks and wet sand
And fires up the soft cottony cumulus flocking on the far horizon – unthreatening – for now
Turning back, now into the wind,
This modern Nordic invader conjures mist from the waves – contrasense
before they crash on the ancient rocks, infinitesimally destroyed by each collision,
creating everyday a new frontier between the kingdoms
The sea is still roaring, softly roaring,
continuous and lovely in the silence
It will continue to roar into the night, even when we are not there to hear it
Washing clean the beach until tomorrow’s visitors fleeting traces are redrawn