Seascape Newgale, Wales, Winter 2014

by Robert Nisbet

The village: a pub, a forecourt, a camping site,
a few houses on the hill, two shops, a café
where we, so many of us, have watched
the steam rise from coffee cups, the butter
trickling through toasted teacakes,
looked out to see spring warm the cliff tops,
mused on the natural world.

And then (as now) the moving water and a foul wind
will rise, shattering, hurtling through the village.

Resurgence then, repair, the fresh paint licked
on window frames and gables.

And again and again,
when the village is spruced and sweet again,
the wind and the water will rise again and shatter.

And again and again,
when the water has crashed,
the village will return to lick with paint,
renew,  
toast teacakes.