The Lizard, Cornwall: Time’s Mists Taking…
Seiners, their
Nets drying against
Barely whitewashed cottage walls,
Slipped hurriedly into grey waters,
For the catch.
Hatches fastened from driving Peninsula rain.
Seiners, their
Nets surrounding shoals,
Warily shifted into sea mists,
Slipping sadly into vintage sepia’s
Surreality glum.
Numbed souls rendered silent and arcane.
Seiners, their
Nets surviving still,
Surely vanished into death,
Will slip unnoticeably through the murk
Of timeless scorn.
Mourning their lost heritage for commercial gain…
Pete Ray
Cornish seiners might still have been out there, for all the lack of visibility around The Lizard on that day.
I felt that maybe their souls were taking to the sea still and fishing pilchards for their industrious wives to salt and pack.
In sepia, of course…
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