Fisherman's Bride
Around us a muted din
Of fiddles and feet,
Circlings of bread and ale.
This room we are in
At the seaward side, is still.
I turn a cold sheet.
Midnight.
The shoal drifts
Like a host of souls unborn, along the shore.
The tide sets from the west.
His salt hand shifts
From tumult of thigh and breast
To the hard curve of an oar.
George MacKay Brown 1921-1996
I love that first picture of the mixture of pebbles. You could sell that to Ikea (wink)
ReplyDeleteI spend ages on our beach looking at colourful pebbles just like the ones in your first great shot. I notice the seaweed is in autumn colours.
ReplyDeleteI like the rock shot. First I noticed the black hole (with white lip). Message in the bottle, perhaps? Then I found myself gazing at those stones. Several minutes it took me. One by freeking one. I'm finaly fucking losing it..
ReplyDeletePretentious crap (?) but I like it.
Sell it to Ikea, I'll go buy me one.
Love the handmade rope..made out of hemp and twisted for hours on end...nice, and soon to be a thing of the past
ReplyDeleteGneiss photos, Gneil.
ReplyDeleteI like this pretentious crap. :-)