Fair Trade
High spring tide,
Dissatisfied, scooped up lumps of stone and slate and rock,
Which languished, distinguished
From the beach by river’s swathe:
It cast them,
Flung them,
Shied them,
Slung them
Towards the dunes,
Grasses waving like white flags
Surrendering, floundering,
Protecting the fine, soft sand:
High spring tide…
High spring tide,
Dissatisfied still, scraped up chunks of dry sand,
Which shifted, lifted
From the beach in cyclone’s swirl:
It was thrown,
Was bowled,
Was launched,
Was hurled
Towards the waves,
Tips thrashing like netted sharks,
Ripping, whipping,
Disencumbering dunes’ fine, soft sand:
High spring tide…
Pete Ray
Mawgan Porth, the aftermath of a high spring tide. The beach was unrecognisable, rocks and stones replacing the normally beautiful sand in front of the dunes.
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