Sunday, 1 November 2015

Crosby

Dear Reader,

Do you remember how during this summer we all read about the strange aggression being shown by seagulls swooping down on people enjoying their sandwiches on the beach, or just walking along eating, annoying nobody?  Then there was a peacock who threw himself at his own image  that he saw in a car's door, scratching the paintwork and causing considerable damage.  Apparently he thought his image was a rival for his lady friend.  Now there is a new danger from hitherto gentle animals, the wild ponies from the Quantock hills.  Apparently they have taken a liking to sweet sugary leftovers from people's picnics, and their behaviour has become violent and aggressive in order to satisfy their desire for sweet things.  They have even butted and bitten a walker, and broken one woman's leg.

I must say I feel quite nostalgic for the days when I happily picnicked on a beach, undisturbed by seagulls  who didn't want to share my sandwiches, watched peacocks peacefully strutting about in ancestral gardens, and walked in the Somerset hills where the ponies didn't give me so much as a glance.                    

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I wrote this piece of Poetry/Prose after I had seen photographs of Crosby Beach.  Crosby Beach has 100 cast iron, life size figures,  stretching out to sea,  sculpted by the artist Antony Gormley.  I think they are very beautiful, magnificent even.


CROSBY

I pick up white shells from the beach and put them into the pocket of my dress.

They stare out to sea.  Tall and dignified they stand, all weathers, undisturbed.  Gulls perch on them, sea salt encrusts their faces, the tide laps at their ankles, and in winter fog obliterates their forms.  I wonder, do these statues whisper in the wind to each other?   Talk of important things?  Do they run along the beach when the crowds have gone or have a swim at midnight?   Perhaps, after dark, they stare out to the horizon, star directed, seeking eternity.  And, are they ever lonely?

I walk back to the car park wondering again, about what is real and what is not.


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Very best wishes, Patricia

2 comments:

Eugenie Teasley said...

You're right! I love this. Here there are wild cows on the loose in the mountains, apparently let go by an impoverished farmer who couldn't afford to keep them. They still have their bells around their necks, but storm at anyone they come across out on a gentle randonée... xoxooxoxox

lisa mitchell said...

I remember as a child going with my parents and grandparents to the new forest and of course my favourite part of my stay has to be the roaming ponies. My mum and dad last stayed there a few years ago only to have two ponies in their awning pinching their bread.I would have loved that as a child