September. The river is low as in mid-summer. I am the fool with the coat. I might even get a tan down there. Forecast – No rain today.

On the B-road to Kinloss
Not a single car
B is for butterfly.

If I hadn’t gone left
I wouldn’t have seen
The heron in flight.

I peel a banana
For the road –
Changed days.

Leaves are falling
They roll down the river
Onto the next station.

I cross Findhorn Bay under a wildcat sky. Thin rain falling in the grey nowhere. I have to take off my shoes and socks and paddle over. The sandworms laugh in the skeleton rain.

Thoughts of girlfriends on the pebbled shore.

In the Captain’s Table:

God does not deduct from
Our allotted time-span
The time spent fishing

Small decisions drift on the dunes
Birds break on the waves.