We say hello to the old man, a German, with an equally old dog, his wizened terrier, as they make their way slowly along the path to Fisherman’s Bay, just out of Port Elliot.

It’s windy, sunny, cool, cloudy, warm on the leeside. Our dog trails behind, busy with new scents, doplets of stories. We head for Seal Rock and then to Crockery Bay. It’s nice to stop there, the bay, search for stones and sea glass, for greens and blues, or stones rippled with Celtic-like swirls,layered and yet smooth to the touch, calls to story, past lives, different memories.

About bydda88

I love poetry, writing, especially writing as healing, as touching the sacred, being touched. And place, places dreaming us, us them. Coasts, rivers, canyons; the ordinary things too, the small things, gestures that reach out.
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One Response to

  1. AJ says:

    A beautifully crafted piece of writing, richly imbued with imagery that brings the scene to life – I feel as if I am there….

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