A Thin Place by Annie Cowell

A Thin Place

If you walk in a straight line across the beach
from the footpath which runs between
blue mountain and the graveyard,
past the marram mounds, dunes crawling with devils’ toenails,
you will come to the spot where the seagulls settle
just before the water’s edge.

If you stand in that spot,
feet in foam, toes tunnelling crustaceans,
put the steelwork’s skeleton behind you
and let your gaze wander to Huntcliffe.
Even in greyest fret a pink gossamer glimmers
shrouding land sea and sky.

If you linger, time will rest with you.
The glow mutes the din of ebb and flow –
silence gifts serendipity -pin pricks of sound –
a dog barking, children laughing.
The veil hides nothing here;
worlds are visible in breaths and heart beats.

If you turn, like the gulls, to the sunshine-
shadows lengthen in your wake.
A cold bluster will blast the morass
as you empty the dust from your pockets –

Hope can happen in a moment
here.

In this thin place.

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(photo by author)

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Annie Cowell

Annie grew up in a fishing village on the north east coast of England. A former teacher, she now lives by the sea in Cyprus with her husband and rescue dogs. She has poems published or forthcoming in Popshot Quarterly, Paddler Press, Gastropoda, boats against the current and others.

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