Forvie, March 2017
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