Early morning Bass Rock.

 

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The smell hits you and the sight and sound of thousands of birds. Blue eyed gannets, diving, gliding, circling, coming into land. Mud, shit, rock. That is all. The birds bring seaweed for their nests , housekeeping, tidying. Black tipped winged white ghosts shrieking, cackling. Derelict buildings, once a prison, hell on earth. An extraordinary place. Volcanic columns of rock rising vertically from the seabed –  a density of darkest matter, its counterpoint the fragility of flighted snow white birds clouding this place with light and life. A wonder. I wash my brushes in the sea and get a soaking.

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