Light scuds

over bactrian dunes,

Wind riffles water,

tearing the tops off waves

like some invisible giant.

 

Sun.  Wind.  Rain. Hail.

 

Life flits : 

a plover on the wing.

 

I sit.

 

Buffeted ;  bruised

but not broken.

Hot sun

on my

neck.

 

‘Balnakeil’