The wind stirs the boats in the harbour. A gentle clanging as ropes bang against mast, rocked by the waves. The fishing fleet is out in the bay. All seems serene. Yet blown on the wind comes a raucous sound. The other side of the sea wall, the tide runs straight up to the rocks. Where the river runs into the sea. There the gulls are gathering. Not floating serenely, but in a frenzy of excitement. Here, where bitter salt meets sweet water, life explodes into being.
While the sun shines, I break free from the house. After a night of rain, the street is washed clean, puddles lying at the edges. The grass on the verges squelches under my feet, mud oozing over my boots. I stroll along the road, idly watching the world pass by. The drainage ditch is overflowing. A new pond has formed in the field over the stone wall. The sea-birds seem to have migrated over from the seashore. I stand and watch as the oyster-catchers paddle in the edge, and the curlews peck at the soil. The gulls float serenely on the pool. The cows seem a little bemused by their company, stood staring from the edges of the field. They seem to be having a soggy time, green shoots muddied by their feet. The stream churns through the field, stirring up the mud on its way to the sea.
Out walking with my Mum earlier, our attention was focused on the rather glorious sunset over the ocean. Until something summoned our attention:
A bubbling call
Summons our attention
We scan the shoreline
Until we see it
Fat dumpy body
Camouflaged against weed-covered rocks
Long curved beak
In silhouette against the sea
There the curlew calls