The
mist swirls in at Holkham, gulls cry up.
A
curlew calls, a plover turns up stones.
Among
the dunes I find a set of bones,
a
piece of glass, a shell shaped like a cup.
A
row of beach huts painted pink and green
leads
to a shoreline dense with razor shells.
A
flock of twite and shorelark swoops and swells,
I
shake sand from a starfish bright and clean.
We
climb to the gazebo stair by stair,
look
down on woods where snowdrops pool and splash.
With
snap of wings and bright vermilion flash,
the
redshank’s warning pipe disturbs the air.
At
dusk a topaz barn owl hunts for prey,
its
face a ghostly mask of Pierrot white.
Across
the salt marsh, as it soars in flight,
we
give our silent thanks for such a day.
Susanna Reece
