Inis Meáin by Michelle Nott

I sit behind you, elevated by the strength of limestone and empowered by the thrash of sea before you. At the edge, wind drops like fishing birds deceiving their prey. Their wings black-tipped glide back up to the azur perch from whence they scowl. The waves slap their foaming hands against the rock, only to dive under again to the watery source. I paint the scene while you photograph the light, south western. Did you catch the sparkle in the tides as I have it...To read this verse, I smile as softly as the moment I wrote it. Your flash missed my glow but these words embrace the sunshine surrounding you.

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