Wind, leaves, conkers, sand and shells.

Cool autumn air scattering crispy brown leaves
Then sweeping them into piles
Which soften the fall of shiny brown conkers
Giant seed balls still Bearing a vernix coating.
birthed from spiky shells with the softest of liningS.
Then onto the beach
blown along by the chill east wind.
The Sun still clinging onto its last Dominant days
before equinox marks its Decline.
I feel the cool sand
running through my fingers
Hunting for cuttlefish bones,
I find instead Long razor clam shells,
chunky whelks and delicate pink tellin shells still in pairs.
Rough and smooth.
Time passes, space shifts
Burry Holm transports me to the Hebrides,
to the outer edges of human habitation
and relief.

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