Beachcombing. Reculver, Kent, March 2023

Fetch me a larger comb. A multitude of treasures. A shell, a stone, worn glass. Each displays a story Etched across its face. Thousands of years of pain. Adrift in foreign seas.   Pebble, so smooth and calm. Is this your first beach Or in 1838 did you wash up In...

Impatient Waters

Twisting, swirling, spraying, curling. Our swollen stream speeding, through the rushes past the bushes. Where oh where is it leading?   Through the village; floods from spillage. Sweeping headstrong and free. Ever south it goes, On it flows, Impatient to enter...

Mahon ‘Festes de Gracia’

The Festival’s commencing, Police erect fencing, Excited crowd sensing such wonders in store.   The parade’s now advancing, thoroughbreds prancing, schoolgirls dancing, no schoolwork today.   Firecrackers are popping, statues starting and stopping, old...

Rain after Drought

Was there ever a smell so wonderful as parched dry earth after rain? That dusty, musty, mildewed smell, dampening this desperate terrain.   Meadows, shades as desert sand sigh and reach to grasp their share, before the deluge ends, generously leaving that pungent...

Beach Hut (Perranporth 1963)

Chairs aligned. Staking our claim. Woe betide marauding neighbours invading our precious space. Mum giving orders. Dad keeping mum. Buckets and spades to the right, cossies to the left. No belongings on the floor- too much sand! Changing to swim. Changing after a...