From still or storm

If you are fortunate enough to be able to go sailing on the Norfolk Broads with amiable companions, perhaps enjoying the simple pleasures of Hunter’s Yard’s boats – mahogany-built in the 30s, gaff-rigged,¬†and with no engines – so that you can moor up in unusual places at night and rest in the beauty of the natural world, however quiet or restless, then who knows whether you may perhaps be blessed with glimpses of that which is usually hidden from us.

 

From still or storm

Waking in the night at South Walsham:
from the silence of the broad
from the stillness of the water
from the cooing of the pigeons
from the yellowness of the crescent moon
from the sharpness of the stars, even unto the little bear
from the spreading glow of eastern red
from the snoring of my crew-mate
and the happiness of my breathing
only one truth comes
we are all this

Waking in the night at Barton Turf:
from the roaring of the wind
from the lashing of the rain
from the dancing of the tree shadows
silhouetted by the boat yard lights
on the inside of the canvas boat cover
from the snubbing of the boat against the mooring ropes
from the yellow gleam of piss in the torchlight
from the snoring of my crew-mate
and the happiness of my breathing
only one truth comes

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