Goodwick Harbour. Pembrokeshire. 25 July 2021

Scales. #157

 Daylight lingers before the inevitable. The afterglow extinguished in millpond-like water; safe in protected walls, far from unknown dangers and open seas.

 Curlew call as the last of the intertidal zone is covered by the lapping tide washing up to golden sand. Ground long vacated by over-burdened day trippers and loudmouth youth.

 Circling 'follow-my-leader' Oystercatcher fly around the bay, looking for uncovered mud to prize and probe. 'Kleep - kleep - kleep' rebounds around this natural amphitheatre, a call repeated long into the heavy night.

 The still surface erupts as predator becomes prey. The wand bends and the line cuts through flat surface meniscus. The game is short and reconciled; as yet another 'silver-bar' slips back into the cooling depths...

South Beach. NT Studland. Dorset. 16 July 2021

Shroud. #156

 Last ray of sunlight doused in the ebbing tide. The strandline walked by a foraging Mediterranean Gull; once a rare visitor, but now a commonplace sight.

 Faint calls and weak flight mark the overhead passing of countless Sand Martin. Pushing on in the half-light to a distant roost, up and over the iconic crumbling escarpment.

  A dog fox barks in adjacent woodland. The darkened gloom heightened by the all pervasive stench that is held in the still air; trapped by canopy and scrub edge, it fouls the very senses.

 Sandwich Tern 'scratchy' calls rebound in the darkness; precursor to high darting dives into moribund eel grass clogged shallows. 'Of the moment' necessity depriving translucent fry of a future: and the slack tide wearisomely turns...

The Lizard. Cornwall. 07 July 2021

Private. #155

 Overgrown and abandoned, nature reclaims past endeavour. Unseen brook dries beneath hawthorn and bramble, whilst Goldfinch 'twinkles' lighten the weave.

 Female Sparrowhawk plucks at a small feathered kill. Sharp eye watching the watcher, as need over caution always wins out. Razor talons grip the prize, puncturing all resistance and ending life.

 Evening weasel stops in shadow; heightened alert as if sniffing the air. Time frozen between rotting log and cracking concrete; a race to be run, a chance to be taken.

 An abode for the dreaming. But entry guarded by deed and sign; old and weathered, unwanted but kept. All sighted reason lost, as slowly and inextricably hope returns to scrub and darkness...

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