Sharp perception expressed in an interesting way.
My eyes hover over a mere square yard of earth. Sand grains twinkle through sparse seaside grass. Spearheads form clumps as leaves of thrift form protective hummocks beneath exploding pink starbursts. Is that the sound of a skylark I hear? I do not look, as my eyes are drawn deeper to catch the movement of a swift, slender millipede flexing through its jungle habitat, revealed to my now attuned eyes in minute detail – my sense of proportion has adjusted to my Lilliputian ‘yardworld’ . Larksong is conjoined with light percussion of waves breaking or merely swishing nearby. Whoever thought that the short scaly stems of coltsfoot would shyly reveal themselves among seashell detritus and that scarlet pimpernel could send filigree threads amongst the yellowing base of the grasses? Odours of the sea, rotting seaweed, tarred wood and old rope – salt, grass, the intangible smell of sea-wind’s freshness are mine for the breathing. They are free, they surround the butterfly that sips nearby, just as they surround me. We are two of a kind, savouring the tastes, sights and smells of a few inches of land – a million miles of ocean. My hands ache from supporting my kneeling weight. Tough grass has impressed itself into my skin and an ant clings desperately to me as I rise. Licking my lips, I taste the sea wind’s gift. They are salty.