Three ravens make black bird shapes against gray. The air is so still that I can hear the sky song of feathers as their slow wings beat, flying south. Lower, grasshopper warblers sing through gorse. The sea surface is wrinkled by slight wind, to echo the fins of porpoise rising, and a flock of small waders is trippled, flying so low, each bird mirrored on the sea's surface, each bird shadow following close in a race of reflection, shadow, bird.
I wander. In my head the clock face for Nursery Rhymes takes shape. All that I need, ironicaly, is time. Time to sit and paint. And a peaceful heart.