As the surface of the cratered moonscape
crack-crags the revealed beach of tide-out morn –
though glistening it lays, lit by sunfire,
for with water-mirror pools it’s adorned.
Four-legged on the foreshore flits ‘n bounds
on paws upon the colonising moss;
sea-scattered-weed of brinesalt scent soaks heat
as Mermaid’s Purses sing of young they’ve lost.
Sunhat ‘n crabbing bucket – rock-pool girl!
She watches where her sandaled-feet stone-stand.
A kayak where the water waits in dreams
of swelling back to swallow up the land…
All this whilst Ravenscar stands – wind-whipped; free –
to soothe its soul within the northern sea.
Image credit – visitwhitby.com
william altoft 