The tide has a real pull on me, perhaps I too can blame the moon. I want to be there when it ebbs, I want to be there when it flows. Sometimes her siren draws me out so far that I feel my link to the land becomes as liminal as the littoral.
The hiss of the turning wakens me, and I head back inland, urgency fighting with reluctance. I was once bitten, now I’m twice shy, not wanting to die!
Silver and gold outline the contours, echoed by the sunset skies and the inner light of the mudflats. Take away those hues, render the scene in a box of greys and still the flow beckons, lit from below. Shadowlands reflected behind the curves of her ferocious beauty.