SHOOTING THE BREEZE
On heatwave days, we tend to gravitate to the beach.
Guernsey's beaches are many and each is distinctly different in character.
The bay at Bordeaux, where I live, is particularly pleasing with its views of the islands, Herm, Jethou and Brecqhou, and the many small boats that grace these waters.
I've always been drawn to the sea-shore and, in my younger days in Northern Ireland, spent many a happy hour watching sail-boats gliding towards their destination powered only by the natural force of the wind.
Guernsey's beaches are many and each is distinctly different in character.
The bay at Bordeaux, where I live, is particularly pleasing with its views of the islands, Herm, Jethou and Brecqhou, and the many small boats that grace these waters.
I've always been drawn to the sea-shore and, in my younger days in Northern Ireland, spent many a happy hour watching sail-boats gliding towards their destination powered only by the natural force of the wind.
RED SAIL
A small blue boat with neat red sail
is moving slowly as we sit,
two figures, huddled, pasty-pale,
together on a sandy spit.
We watch its progress, tall sail, bright,
so reminiscent of a kite ...
a childhood thing, my pride and joy.
I went, on windy days, for sport,
eager, like any other boy,
to fly it near the ruined fort.
It sailed breathtakingly above,
free, yet restrained: somehow like love.
A small blue boat with neat red sail
is moving slowly as we sit,
two figures, huddled, pasty-pale,
together on a sandy spit.
We watch its progress, tall sail, bright,
so reminiscent of a kite ...
a childhood thing, my pride and joy.
I went, on windy days, for sport,
eager, like any other boy,
to fly it near the ruined fort.
It sailed breathtakingly above,
free, yet restrained: somehow like love.
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