song of tirricks

20120802-130644.jpg Tie your own boat a’da noost – the highest point at any beach – and walk around.

Under August’s chaotic skies, we set foot on one of the richest secluded beaches of the isle. The air was filled with salt and beads, so we wandered around da craigs – rocks closest to the rocking North Atlantic, clad with seaweed, selkies and chimes…


There, at our feet, a treasure trove in between sand grains & rock pools waited for us.


In all its generosity, the Atlantic brought us nacre beyond our dreams – as if last Yule’s most savage storm had tossed the ocean bed like a golden laced crêpe suzette…


So we kneeled with respect and selected the very ones that caught our hearts. Oblivious to selkies (seals) & tirricks (terns) in the distance, we continued to scour the beach – go though the sand with a thin-toothed comb.

We bagged our loot, and as we were about to leave, the wind played tricks and heaved a ballet above us:

song of tirricks

So we watched in awe our visiting swallows of the sea, as they vanished in hissing skies.

Lugh, the Celtic god of the sun, is still roosting inside low cloud…


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Filed under 2012, 60N, Arcania, atlantic, birds, celebration, colours, earth, geopoetics, home, images, island, north, seabird, shetland, spirit, wind, world, writing

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