A place of old pine and gum trees. Amongst rocks, the rocks from knee high to taller than two men. I was hungry for it, for time spent in nature. I put my head against the trunks of trees, and to the cold surface of the rocks.
David Whyte said in one of his talks, ‘Nature is so restorative precisely because it doesn’t care about your problems.’ That’s true of course, but it’s more that it is just going about its own business and that the business is slow. There is no tweeting happening that isn’t the twittering of birds; no rushing anywhere, the slow wing beats of crows, languid, their droll sounds; the ancient rocks doing what rocks do, pretty much nothing in our timeframe, but vibrating the long slow song of time, hard and cold and warm and sheltering.
I lay down amongst them in a little nook where I was completely hidden, important, apparently, when you are the only person for miles around.
a small body listens
to pine song
second Sunday of May
a handful of autumn leaves
autumn sunshine ~
three trendy pre-teens
with mud on their bottoms
It was a fishing tournament (prizes for the biggest catch) and people came from miles around and set up camp in the dunes. Then they drove their shiny four-wheel drives down to the beach to fish.
The organisers assured everyone that they’d assured everyone there would be a king tide, but the fishing was so good that everyone forgot.
Well, next day there were backhoes on the beach digging the vehicles out. One guy opened his car door and was shoveling out armfuls of sand. Another raised his bonnet and there was the top of his engine all shiny and clean above the neatly packed sand. They had to get all of it out before they could lift the vehicles. I’m glad I wasn’t there because, I’m afraid, I found it funny and that would have gone down like a lead balloon or a dead four-wheel drive.
above the tideline
the little plover mother
returns to her eggs