Silence

Or, the title could be Forgetting the Words. 

It's been a while, I know. Focus seemed to shift. It was about discovery - learning about the new job; finding a home (which we did do); settling in, finding our feed. Nature helps with this. 

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The sea makes its own path. Twice a day we can watch the water coming in. The land disappears under the water that is without stopping for the tide comes in astonishingly quickly. It rushes, despite the ground seeming to be flat. Joyfully, eagerly comes into the space, until soon it's hard to remember what it was like before. 

Dry seaweed creates a line of embellishment high in the salt marsh grass. Tangled remains of sea creatures become dessicated in the time between spring tides, between rain showers. And yet the stories are here; I can feel them on the tip of my tongue but I do not yet know how to tell them. 

The saltmarsh outside the house is a colour all of its own. Grey-green, with dark furls and runnels where the water has eased its way through to the peat underneath the coarse sand. Silent, a heron stands and watches the tide ease itself around her feet. And she lingers in the same position to hunt that which comes with the water.

The water is so glassy that you can see the land underneath. The salt marsh waiting again to be reveled. One morning an otter hunted, oblivious. Another, an osprey. And the sea eagle regularly flies the glen; occasionally she can be heard to call. 

The sea brings so much, not least endless interest. Never have I ever looked out the window and seen nothing to catch my curiosity: it's endless, this fascination, and to be by the sea (living by the sea for the first time in my life), is a heart's ease.

I stood in the calm midsummer night beside the sea and breathed in the salt air. A slice of heaven to welcome the summer. The moon rose above the hills and added its delicate light to the gloaming, to the never-darkening midsummer night. A peace pervades this place; a calm and a joy. For we are home. ​