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Posted Saturday 7th October 2017 at 01:37 by Egrets Ivadafew
Time shifts light across the world, and mirrored clouds across the film of my eyes.
Aerial waders, distant, beyond count, sink to the marsh then lift like scattered shot before the leaden sky.
Beyond count. And I watch alone in this mouth of England, this table of ghost ships, and dykes, and telephone wires.
Silhouetted like a cripple, bent to the triangulation of sticks, I crook to my glass, and porthole the mire.
Knot, northern immigrants, grey shawled, pale, wing beaten down the miles from winters worse.
The cruel wind, lifting, brings salt through the bitter air, the car is waiting in the lane, with an offer of sacred warmth. Turning from it I watch again, immersed.
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