Forvie, March 2017

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And then the sand flowed like the tide

Shifting the land at the wave edge of the sea

A vast striated plane of drifting whirling grains:

Aged dunes lost to the wail will of the wind.

As we walked close by the sea suck and ripple

The bound beach rose and swallowed our grounded feet

We seemed to be free floating sand cloud high

In the sandsmoke drifts rushing to their new horizon.

Bleached beached twigs, shells and most sea flotsam

Were lost in that gritty cumulus over which we passed,

Buried as the golden patterned drift swept endlessly by.

Alone and spectral solid in the blown sand haze,

A larger knotted eye of arm-thick rope

Interrupted the tiding sand, arresting the wave flow

To create a tiny sheltered lee shore, a curved cove,

The sand building against its woven coir cliffs and headlands.

What tiny beached survivor will seek shelter there

In vain to ride out the dreadful storming sand?

Tomorrow, only a low gold grave mound

Will mark its buried braid bound bay.


Later, we found the sand shrouded chapel,

Last sign of a fishing village

Elementally lost to


beachchapelcoastdunesfishermenForvieSandSand stormScotlandseavillage

◄ Absalom's Rise

Prometheus Redux ►


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Collin Pulmano

Wed 13th Dec 2017 02:15

Nice imagery.

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