This is Nor­folk

EDP Norfolk - - Poem -

The clat­ter of masts in salt laden air Pierced by the shrill kleep of red­shank Hur­ry­ing past at break­neck speed Re­turn­ing pi­lots from a time hon­oured scene.

Cof­fee coloured wa­ter, bub­bling mud Prob­ing beaks on stilts Clock­work toys, stac­cato in move­ment Rise as one, re-ap­pear, then gone

And still the creek silently emp­ties.

A bleach white wind­mill, arms long frozen Stands guard over time and space Reeds rus­tle buf­feted by the wind Re­turn to place, sway­ing foot­ball sup­port­ers

Blue, green, grey and white Splashes of colour mo­men­tar­ily ig­nite. A lone fig­ure drifts, dis­sects the hori­zon Past, present, fu­ture, merge into one.

And still the creek silently fills.

Scrunch­ing gravel, hin­ders progress El­e­men­tal force, tem­pest storm Dis­tant white noise, hints of dan­ger Preda­tor in wait­ing for the fool­hardy and stranger.

Fish­eye land­scapes dizzy the mind Cleanse the soul of much un­kind Silent cot­tages, soul­less shells Farm fam­ily ghosts for whom the bell tolls

And still the creek silently emp­ties.

A dark­en­ing sky spreads from the west As the last strug­gling swal­lows duck and dive Driven south, twi­light fo­cus Over coun­try es­tates that can no longer hide

Empti­ness. Ghosts. Hid­den field cor­ners. Spare a thought for lost sons and daugh­ters.

Slow ye down. For this is Nor­folk.

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