The morningâ€™s walk unearths the sodden hare, stuck in a secondâ€™s frozen
stillness before the swing of my huge whistle
dislodges it and the collared dog’s just
caught as a whiff triggers her all
a-quiver in anticipation of the chance of a chase.
Then three heifers, looking askance,
dance towards us like curious girls at a circus,
skittish. Later, on the shore, the deal trunk half
submerged gives the illusion of a human
head bouncing in the water and the dog
tracks it, hunting with lifted paw, while I walk on, amused.
A concrete post stumped into the bouncing bog
beneath the sand and I wonder how
much of what is now submerged was once
good, contested land. The geese lift, disturbed, and fly into the strong wind
low and slow, looking for sanctuary. They dip down over me into
a field, heeling themselves airward.
Up through the red ash of the turf, the rubble, the dark
windows of holiday homes, hoodies settled on telegraph
poles, the incessant wind, bring rain and the sea on its raw
breath, and I grit my teeth, determined to deal with addictions,
debts, and grievances with equal vigour, chafing at memories of blistering
rows. I recovenant with the ripped air.