Rossknowlagh Strand
It’s late Octoberthe edge of the wateris layered in white foaman aran scarf curved alongthe seas icy grip.Sand is wintered hard.Sea far out curls and slapson southern winds and I brace myself for the mile walk.East wind cuts to the bonein a place like this,whips away summers lightnessand reminds me that to enjoy oneI must embrace the other with joy too.The gulls straggling the shorefind it difficult to stay afloat.I make faces to the wind as itcarves its grip in my crows feet.The hotel lights guide me backback to a warm coffee potback to write and my mindfreed from world thoughtsgets to work.