Oystercatchers

A sort of poem, with illustrations.

Findhorn beach, Sunday 9th February 2025

You ask for space.
In fear and self-doubt, I head to the beach.
I am lost, alone in the fog.
There is no future
Only this moment, here, now.
Flat and grey.
Sand, water, muffled sounds.
I can't feel you, panic lurks in my throat.
Breathe
Look closer: Pebbles, seaweed, broken shells. Relics.
The empty echoing wreckage of a love abandoned, half-built.

And then two oystercatchers, paired for life
Working the water's edge
Alongside me, for a little while.
Long enough.

I am connected with life
I am alive
I am love
Yes