Estuary
Not far
from man
but far enough,
there is mystery here;
not the daily puzzlement
we all know well
nor the scientist's
rigorous questioning,
both of which ask how;
instead
this landscape asks why -
whether the gale has motive,
why the birds return,
what purpose lies in tides.
Amid the
peace, the chill air,
the dull greys and duns
of winter, we are fooled
into perceiving silence.
But it
is quiet only, still.
If you stand and listen
the sounds emerge -
slow, lapping water on brown shale,
the distant, low boom of the ocean
beyond the headland,
wind whistling through blown bushes,
a far tractor, a farm dog barking
at nothing. And the birds -
trilling, crying.
Seeking
some kind of solace
I walk here, on this pathway
to the oblivion of the green sea;
among piping waders, far from where
anything important happens
but close to what matters -
ocean,
wind, sky.
Copyright © 2001 Trevor Hewett
