New Year at Sandwood Bay

From beach, to river, to moor. The light fades, the wind scowls. The way ahead, lit with a beam. Searching for islands of dryness. Rocks offer the ruse of refuge. Wet feet find wet bog. The air is mild, the darkness foreboding. The sky offers the outline of edges. The moor offers little to lead the way. The sound of the river, tempts home. The bothy, a sanctuary, a welcome relief. A speck in these wild lands. To cross the door, to escape, to discover. To brake the silence, to impose a new visitor. A passer by, a truth seeker, a stravager, a holiday maker. We find it empty. Darkness. Enter - with heavy shoulders, waterlogged boots. Explore, assess, rest. Time, minutes, brings familiarity. Peat, coal, wood. The smoke rises, the steam from the socks. Sandy sits by. I hope he approves.