The gift of living in a small town beside the sea
Breathing, up Windsor Hill.
Down through Barnoon
to greet those who’ve long gone.
allowing the sea into my boots.
Around the island
to have my hair re styled by the wind. Ah, there it is, on invisible strings.
A creature not caring of us
or our woes.
Its only intent; those unseen violet tracks. Past Wheal Dream
where the dozing museum
bides its time,
waiting to fill its heart up
with our future.
Onto the Wharf,
Turnstones scuttle between my feet, chattering quietly, oblivious.
Everyone I meet says ‘Aren’t we lucky’.
In support of those enduring the pandemic without the safety and comfort of a home or even shelter, a percentage of the proceeds from this exhibition will be donated to Shelter England.
If you would like to make an independent contribution to Shelter England, you can do so by clicking below.