An island walk.
Over the wall you can see the ruined priory , destroyed originally by the Vikings.
Walking the way of the pilgrim in " Inis Metcaud" *,
through asphalt and grass , viewing dead crabs
thrown from the Causeway marking the path ahead.
Entering the grasses , which spring and wrap feet
in tendrils of burrs and spikes , swaying constantly
to remove direction.
Processing along the sandy beach ; leaving heel and toe
memories behind in a wasteland bearing remains of
human detritus at the margins.
Upon the verdant meadows , feeling the keening air
bringing a lashing cold wind, spilling forth mucus
until all the world seems , nought but
a watery potage.
Wind-kissed walking the boundary twixt sea and land
on a moving pebble dash at one with elemental
in tune with the pulse of time.
* " Island of Strong Winds " from David Adam's " Flame In My Heart " - the life of St Aidan.