Rock’s in profile,

forehead, nose and chin.

Sea’s a mountain,

a cascading avalanche,

white and foamy as milk

boiling in the pan.

Figures on the hill

are warriors.

 

A kestrel hovers as if

hanging on a string

and boulders lie

calm as elephants

upon the sand.

 

Oily grey gull feathers

tell a drab story

of October gales,

fragments of crab shell smashed

delicate as dinner plates.

 

Foam looks dirty in the churning sea

like snow, long fallen.

Children in anoraks and boots,

screams echo, cliff to cliff,

jet black jackdaws saphire eyed

swing, vortexing

above the wave’s crescendo.

 

Everything waits,

catching it's breath,

for winter.