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Bright New Year’s Day in Aberystwyth.
We walk along the beach head,
The Irish Sea flirting with our Wellington boots.
My nephews tussle on the sand dunes,
Feinting and dodging with imaginary swords.
Strolling among sand polished sea urchins and broken glass,
I mince smartly around the startling corpse of a lone sheep.
Kites stain the sky.

We are sandpipers, skittering;
Our scattered voices rising skyward,
Scouting the wind scourged spit of land.

Probing for winkles,
A bottle fills my reaching hand.
Through questing fingers, Amazed,
I pour four Irish school children
Onto star-fished palms.

From three countries, four;
I chronicle.
Send pictures in crayon.

On holiday,
I throw that messaged bottle
Into the Indian Ocean,
Hand shading brow in unintentional salute.


Carol Corke currently resides in one of many blind but scenic canyons in the Texas Hill Country with her faithful dog, Sammie, and equally faithful husband who shall remain anonymous. Among her many interests and hobbies, other than writing, are her Cheese Appreciation Group, with numbers unfortunately dwindling, and World Chocolate Cataloguing Project, with membership happily on the rise. The weekly seminar she previously conducted regarding the safe handling of Wild North American Publishers has been suspended indefinitely due to a rather nasty personal injury. The recurring dreams of bill-board-sized wanted posters of friends and family have led to an entertaining holiday craft project.

© 2006, Carol Corke

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