Sandpiper
The roaring alongside he takes for granted,
and that every so often the world is bound to shake.
He runs, he runs to the south, finical, awkward,
in a state of controlled panic, a student of Blake.
The beach hisses like fat. On his left, a sheet
of interrupting water comes and goes
and glazes over his dark and brittle feet.
He runs, he runs straight through it, watching his toes.
- Watching, rather, the spaces of sand between them
where (no detail too small) the Atlantic drains
rapidly backwards and downwards. As he runs,
he stares at the dragging grains.
The world is a mist. And then the world is
minute and vast and clear. The tide
is higher or lower. He couldn't tell you which.
His beak is focused; he is preoccupied,
looking for something, something, something.
Poor bird, he is obsessed!
The millions of grains are black, white, tan, and gray
mixed with quartz grains, rose and amethyst.
and that every so often the world is bound to shake.
He runs, he runs to the south, finical, awkward,
in a state of controlled panic, a student of Blake.
The beach hisses like fat. On his left, a sheet
of interrupting water comes and goes
and glazes over his dark and brittle feet.
He runs, he runs straight through it, watching his toes.
- Watching, rather, the spaces of sand between them
where (no detail too small) the Atlantic drains
rapidly backwards and downwards. As he runs,
he stares at the dragging grains.
The world is a mist. And then the world is
minute and vast and clear. The tide
is higher or lower. He couldn't tell you which.
His beak is focused; he is preoccupied,
looking for something, something, something.
Poor bird, he is obsessed!
The millions of grains are black, white, tan, and gray
mixed with quartz grains, rose and amethyst.
Elizabeth Bishop
I found another poem by my recent discovery Elizabeth Bishop. And it led me to a search of Captain Butterfly's Photo Gallery and found there were many sandpiper pics for me to choose from. See above. We live on a pebbly beach - though it has a lot of sand when the tide is out, and it is fascinating to watch the details of all the pebbles, their shape, their colours. So I love the way she ends this poem.
My beachcombing days are over sadly - at least in this system of things on the earth. Many more to come of course if I do "inherit the earth", as Jesus promised. But I have had many happy days just wandering along the shoreline in my time and I must be happy with that for now. I am grateful still to be here actually, and still to be loving retirement.
It was so rainy and stormy on Thursday that Col came back early from the detectorists' field. HE CAME BACK EARLY!!! That is how stormy it was. I don't know whether this was still Storm Goretti, or a new one (?). Wonderful waves on the Channel.
We visited Jacks on Friday morning and had quite a chat about old times - so it was both happy and sad. All the things we used to do. She is now confined to a wheelchair, but in a lovely care home. It's like an expensive hotel, with kind and helpful staff. We took an assortment of chocs from Waitrose. She was more enthusiastic about them than about her breakfast, even though it was a good breakfast. I had one too - a salted caramel. Yummy. Or, as Col said, "Oink, oink".
Col was home today - not out with the detectorists - so he helped me get dressed and chauffered me to the Hall. Appropriately, the Watchtower study was about Carers, and how they can stay joyful and how we can care for them. I tried to push him in to the Hall as we arrived at the doors, but he got away from me...
I have sent him the link and hope he might be moved to read it.
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