.
Once we looked to the horizon.
How can we see now?
≈
.
Encased
in the white wall
a pulse, a tracing
an inscription of breath.
≈
.
An acronym, or
a beginning
an interruption, or
an end?
≈
.
Wind-blown,
brush strokes
impasto smears
…………………………………………….– the sky
a feathered script
of light
≈
.
At the ghost pier
the ebb and flow
of memory
and forgetting
≈
.
Weather soaked
histories
etched – in wood
a redundancy of nails
.
.
.
≈
.
.
A polished pewter sky
dreams a wash of
copper-burnished kisses
≈
.
an invitation,
the pull towards
the edge
.
.
to sit and stare.
Listening
to the lichens
singing
≈
.
On the cliff top,
who is watching
the solitary watcher
≈
.
and at the bench
an outward gaze
to remember
and once again
look beyond
the edge of the horizon.
≈
Musings from a short walk in the village of Aberdour, Fife, on 28th December 2013.
Thanks to @emmaZbolland for “Pewter light” in response to an earlier tweet of the Ghost Pier.
Now playing: Translucence – John Foxx and Harold Budd.