Today I drew you in the sand.
For days on end, rain filled gulleys, drones, reservoirs, lochs and lochans – waterlogged layers of peatlands, that act like thick blotting paper. For nights on end, I dreamt of each rock in the sand – bouquets of kelp washed on the shore, your every contour, round and round… For the first time in a fortnight, a starry night on Wednesday night! An orange sunrise on Friday overrode grey and dark jade sea.
I nearly lost sight of the island in Panavision.
And when I try to pin blueness, I need to return to the edge; listen to rollers on both sides, as I wander in morning sun. Light, light blessed again my dear sand bridge and let me reach to Arcania.
My travelogue in island blue begins again.
The incessant song of the sea; rollers behave like bulldozers in surround sound! Spray sticks to everything that stands at surf level. Two hooded crows squabble for kelp; shalders (oystercatchers) shriek back in nearby fields, craigs (rocks in the foreground) and splashzone. Every rock shines and weighs its gold. I feel Tom Thumb returning home… Nothing else matters.
Here lies our wealth, light years away from the void created by the artificial world. I recall Kenneth White sketching a a destination-less journey, in which the term adventure takes all its dimension. Such simple act of wandering without a goal rekindles our spirit of communion with the world. Moments of sheer joy, as our senses awake to the magic of the island, filled eyes and heart. We are at one with the cosmos.
Soon, we shall cross the equinox, welcome equality in night and day… And before long, re-dress ourselves in this mighty boreal blue.
© Nat Hall 2011