Tuesday, 13 August 2013

Saltmarsh, Ile de Noirmoutier


A circling plain, bleached flat in wide-screen by sun and overcoming sky;
lonely home to hunting heron, bird-call and clearing thoughts.
Hum of wind-washed grasses, bent in rhythm, amplifying the calm.

An old channel, guided by memories of flow, glistens its approach; 
drifting a lazy course,
now one with my own.
Two rabbits disturb this marsh stupor:
fen-land exile from beach-side camp.

Latent yet elemental, this low place - Marais Salants - exists for salt: sluice gates alone keep out the sea's patient intent; and for these short hours, a care-less hideaway is found here.
Ile de Noirmoutier, Vendee, France








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