Cliffs,Wind,Orkney.

Salt clouded glasses filter an easterly clyping wind, trembles islands of barely blooming sea pinks. Veinous blue gulleys of clay slip down to the sea. A lapwing tumbles to the ground, spooking a curlew to flight, its long curved beak darning pieces of sky, mending the torn light of Spring. May retreats to the margins. I lean into the wind and find myself at a curious angle.