The cold forbidding wind
Cut him to the core
Difficult to see through streaming eyes
He knows this stretch of beach
Like the lines on the palms of his hands
It holds no fears, yet he gives it full respect
He hears the crashing of the sea
Listens for the sound of birds in flight
Raging against the storm
The watery reflection of sunlight blinding
Sheltered eyes
He stands, cut off from the headland
Ruminating the solitude
The sound of wind, the blast of rain
Cold feel of country
Grinding of teeth
Progressively the sky grows darker
Yet he is in his element
With dog at heel.
Poetry From The ManShed
12/10/19
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