Nocturne

There is a softer music
moving with the tide
kinder to shadows
supple like a lover;

To hear it is a joy
limpid and simple
as the sea-hawthorn
washed ashore

smelling of salt and nectar,
a witches charm
storm-whispering
to beguile cloud-lost birds

Then to rest
on the sands at dusk
watching little lights flicker
 across the hills

Beset...

By pretty trivialities. All appointments made except with the manicurist.

By the time I get to Devon I will be the most plucked, waxed,tinted, cropped, coloured walking casualty of the beauty industry that ever lurched across the county line. It'll be a miracle if larians recognises me.