At the docks today.

Getting ready for the mackerel coming soon. An overcast sky. A ‘Watchtower’ leaflet politely declined. Nice day I say. Have you ever thought who gave us this nice day ? he says. I laugh, walk on. George tells me about going to the co op as a child with a line from his mum, can still remember his number. The Corrs on a cd player – Irish whistles and a quiet singalong to the fixing and painting of boats. The haddock are back off Elie, first time in years. A gift of an orange boilersuit off the rigs. It’ll work once the arms and legs are cut down. Looking and watching and drawing.

Yesnaby, Orkney.

The great cliffs of Yesnaby have watched all the leavings and home comings, of ships setting sail to the frozen north in search of the whale to my own comings and goings, comings and goings, my own edge place. The rocks shelves, splinters, flat flag slabs collide, crash to the sea. Oystercatchers skirl in the pearly wind. Sea tangle, skin tingle, looking beyond the horizon in search of my own adventure.