Watching the tide
I smell it first as I walk the heathland trackThat heady salt-rot scent of sea and wrack Then up the dunes beyond the scrub and lingWhere a sharp east wind makes a lie of spring To look out where sea meets wide Norfolk skyAnd wonder at the cargo of ships passing byDown to the shore where sandlings skit and dance A tricky waltz with the low surf's slow advance The high tide's softer sister swells and spills Up through the hard pulled pebble rillsTo turn a sand bowl down below the duneInto a shallow saltwater lagoon A tempting place to let small feet play And a ready reminder to be on my way