Thursday, 4 May 2017



The sun had shone early in the day,
Casting a calmer coat of blue
Upon the previous green-grey hue,
When tousled torrents had held sway…

The surf thus grumbled at low tide,
Undecided maybe how to behave,
Fussing with a demeanour grave
And the surfer coerced his every ride…

Four Oystercatchers then flew overhead,
Their spellbinding flight irritating the sea
Which snatched at my board and carelessly flung me:
A spooky force, back from the seeming dead…

It took me,
It forsook me,
It ushered me fast;
It drilled me, 
It chilled me, 
It deposited me at last…

It thrilled me,
It spilled me, 
It tarried for my return;
It pulled me, 
It fooled me,
It delighted to spurn…

I used it, 
I cruised it, 
I whispered a vow;
I addressed it, 
I blessed it,
I offered a short bow…

One Oystercatcher then skimmed the waves across me,
Surfing the unpredictable spray,
Stilling me and in some magical, imperial way,
Willing me to leave that mesmeric sea…

Pete Ray
May 2017

The fast, furious rides of April 30th and May 1st in fine rain and healthy winds were unavailable on May 2nd.

Good weather in the morning put paid to the more exciting surf-riding but despite having to force my rides, the flight of the Oystercatchers seemed to coincide with a change in the tide and I managed to take a thrill or two. 

As I rose from one long ride, a single Oystercatcher skimmed across the waves approaching me, almost forbidding me to risk more in the cold…

I blessed the sea.

I bowed.

And I left…


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