Gossamer announces Autumn, with dew dropped crystal bells. Ribbons of transparent lace Wafting over fresh ploughed fields. Red rosehips reawaken— Vestiges of summer past.
Snuffling hedgehogs walking past. Red-capped mushrooms reawaken. Golden leaves dance over fields, Some are stuck in spiders’ lace. Beech-nuts: spiky furry bells, And everywhere it smells of autumn.
Oak Moon introduces Winter. Hooded crows like feathered monks, Shiver in the wet cold storm. Scaly tree bark shimmers silver. Sleeping dragons, ancient creatures. Sleet pelts winter coats.
Wolf Moon conjures magic coats. Midwinter hunt o’ fabled creatures. Only iron be your ward, never use the silver. Run! Run through the brazen storm! Hoods won’t protect the trembling monks! Blood moon calls the King of Winter.
Gentle footprints, lucent flowers. Snowdrops. Crocus follow on. Spring jumps across a gurgling burn. She dances in the warming sun. Rainbows burst from breaking clouds. Sap rushes into swelling trunks.
Fox cubs ring around the trunks. The oak protects them from the clouds. Yet suddenly there breaks the sun. A fawn drinks from the gurgling burn. And tiny paws are hanging on, Lest furry red kits land in flowers.
Suddenly burst forth the heat. Summer strides with confidence. Colour explosion.
The only sound are gentle drops, running off my orange paddle, hitting the salty waters of Loch Eishort—a North Atlantic bay in the Inner Hebrides. I sit motionless in my kayak watching the sea haar silently flowing over the hills, sinking into the ocean. As above so below mesmerised when the horizon disappears entirely I hang suspended, floating amongst the clouds. The stories of Avalon appearing out of the mist suddenly make sense. I think; turning around to face coral island—too small to be a mythical land, and yet …
Naddy watch! An urgent shout runs across the water in hurried strides. Two o’clock from me. There is something huge! It’s moving fast.
I suddenly feel vulnerable in my small kayak suspended between the vastness of water and sky. And then I see them—large disturbances in the water. Distances are difficult to judge, I will look it up later and estimate about one mile and a half East of us. As if a huge fish is being chased by an unknown creature, trying to escape with zig zag movements. For a fraction of a second I see something poking out of the water, too large to be a seal head, no dolphin fins, no fins at all. Whatever it is, incredible speed carries it across the bay, going inland. Something is hunting, we agree, and stay well away. Do Kelpies live in saltwater?
Let’s continue across the bay and visit Allt na Peighinn waterfall, we agree. Although curiosity pulls me towards the unknown creature. Not that I could keep up that speed in my steady fat fishing kayak. Disconcerted my eyes keep tracing the inlay for whoever caused the commotion but tranquillity has returned, my nerves settle, and soon enough my attention is forced on territorial terns. Yes, we are wearing base caps, and no we are not persons of interest for the feisty flyers. They are having beef with local gulls and are cheered on by oyster catchers. I am picking up speed, lest the inhabitants of Eilean Gaineamhach Boreraig turn their attention to me.
Finally, the waterfall is moving closer. I check the time it took us to get across the bay. We pull ashore for a snack break, and decide to follow the coastline before crossing over again. J is slightly behind me scouting for fishing spots. When I notice movement ahead. Is this a seal? No too small. It’s an otter! I quietly squeal.
The creature pauses its movement and I viscerally feel attention wash over me. No way did she hear my squeal? She is still too far away to see clearly. But. I know. I just know she is coming towards me. Pause. She lifts her head out of the water, another surge of attention. And off she goes smooth movements snake towards my kayak. Pause. Again. Pop up head. Again. Attention again. And off she goes, again. Tiny bow waves purposefully wash in my direction. I can literally feel J holding his breath just as I do. I don’t dare turning around to check in with him. In mutual agreement we stopped speech, movement, even breath. The water is holding us in place. The kayaks have stopped drifting. And suddenly she is so close I can make out the powerful body slinking elegantly through the water. Pause. Head out of water, curious eyes lock with mine. She dives forward. Yet a bit closer, right in front of me, her eyes lock with mine again. I gasp. Hello, I say. Thank you for visiting with us. She nods, and looks on. Then her tiny ears fold over, and I can see her nostrils close. She dives once more and pops up again, next to me, the other side of the kayak now, eyes lock once more. I can feel hot tears running down my cheeks. An eternal moment.
I was wearing a Panama hat sometimes a tropical hat, khaki pants, or in the realm of reality they were nylon trousers my mom made.
That didn’t deter the explorer though, turning over large stones to watch all the creepy crawlies. Krabbeltierchen in German scatter as the unexpected sunlight hits their shadowy world.
The clay of the river plain, cracked skin from the summer heat, noon flowers pastel lilac somewhat limp amidst the dust. Longing for the thunderstorm brewing on the horizon, as they hang onto life thirsting.
I feel the heat burning my neck; better watch it! Lest I get another sunburn and gran needs to administer the cooling gel. I watch the wall of anthracite cotton candy threatening the silent summer day.
Only the crickets have the energy to make noise. The skylarks rest after this morning’s efforts. This is the moment before lightning bolts rip through the sky, and pelt the gentle flowers into submission; before the rain sinks into the thirsty ground bringing life once more.
It won’t It will Ach it’s going to be okay Humidity hits me As I watch clouds growing darker I don’t want to carry anything I just want to walk And so I do Just me Myself And warm summer rain on my skin It was okay after all
There should be words Rushing out Carrying with them The light, smells, sounds of a summer By the sea You should be able to hear the echoes
Of an eagle cry, a dolphin splash You should be able to see a seal Head popping up in curiosity next to my kayak And smoke rising Steaming sand at low tide Through my words
Yet they are empty I can’t reach Metaphors swirl Wordlessly Pictureless Soundlessly In empty space
I should draw the colours of sunsets Thousands of diamond sparkles on top of waves Silky water taken with long exposure shots Dramatic rocks mirroring in retreating tide Is what my words should draw Yet The paint dried in
Traces of heat make my clothes sticky A last desperate attempt of summer Before gossamer Chases the cobwebs Like brooms made of lace Swiping away dust and dry leaves The debris of a summer well lived
Hot wind wipes like invisible fire across burnt grass
The brittle stalks rustle underneath my itchy soles
Dry lips burst in anticipation of a cold drink
I squint against the brightness there is nowhere to hide
Except for the lizards playing peekaboo in the rockery
Lazy days stretch in front of me as I tangle my feet in clear water
Poetry by Nathalie 