r2vyln3rdioj14u-rld0ska where mountains meet the sea: March 2010

morning tide


...the beach sloped in clean grey-blue stones rounded and smooth, some no bigger than his fist, but some larger than his head. As he stepped on them they slithered and rolled with a sea noise. The noise rose up and roared upon the dusk like a wave. All around no life was to be seen, there was no movement but the sea's.

Neil M. Gunn, from Morning Tide

Beachcomber


Monday I found a boot -
Rust and salt leather.
I gave it back to the sea, to dance in.

Tuesday a spar of timber worth thirty bob.
Next winter
It will be a chair, a coffin, a bed.

Wednesday, a half can of Swedish spirits.
I tilted my head.
The shore was cold with mermaids and angels.

Thursday I got nothing, seaweed,
A whale bone,
Wet feet and a bad cough.

Friday I held a seaman's skull,
Sand spilling from it
The way time is told on kirkyard stones.

Saturday a barrel of sodden oranges.
A Spanish ship
was wrecked last month at The Kame.

Sunday, for fear of the elders,
I smoke on the stone..
What's heaven? A sea chest with a thousand gold coins.

George Mackay Brown