Long Beach

A winter of storms off the North Sea has swept sand bars from the crumbling dunes to form shallows silver with breeding eels. Horses run from wet sand to pebble banks. Squabbling terns have brought the egg smooth flints to life. Where wiry grass has worn thin there are other tracks—the line of a lizard’s tail cuts through slipping sand. Claws of a landing crow, a hop, a take off. The horses have returned to the dunes under white gold stripes of cloud. The sun pumps wintered blood through larks emptying song sparks from their hard heads. The birds’ skulls vibrate after months of snow and soakings. The horses shine with brightening sea reflections, they turn towards new warmth. The pines on the hard mud cliff open their pores—winter’s oil forms a grey haze. An island of mud drops into a stream. Horse shoes have goldmarked the water’s edge. The returning horses run past pebble banks.