Photo by Michael Mahood on Unsplash
From the Sea-window
The tide’s going out. The heron stalks the rock pools. A dunlin picks its way through the seaweed. A black poodle paddles in the shallows. The ladies who swim wade ashore and take off their wetsuits and pink floats. The heron has now solidified and waits. On the flat rock a baby gull runs to catch up with its mother. On another rock some shags form a line. Offshore a lobster boat checks the creels. Glint of sun on water – it’s taken till now till nearly twelve for things to move and me to nod off over Penelope Shuttle’s poems, dreaming of salt and clothes pegs.
Heron on the Rocks
For some reason this heron is not going to budge from this bit of rock. The seagulls are confident its theirs. They dive- bomb the heron who stabs his beak at them and squawks. One gull tries solo without luck then rounds up its mates and they all have a go. After ten minutes of near-hits the heron says, ‘Sod this for a game of sailors’ and flaps off. A gull follows to make sure he beats it. They all cry victory and settle down before the tide comes in.