The song

I take a moment to be still, to escape the news and connect with the landscapes closest to home.

I sit, circled by a wind that brings the chill of distant snow while the warm sun speaks of spring. Fulmars glide past, wings outstretched, their flight making visible the air’s currents and eddies. With each pass, they come a little closer, silent, eyes fixed on me. Soon, along this rugged coastline they’ll find nooks and crevices to raise their young and their cackling call will fill the summer air.

Three swans, bright white against indigo sea, take to the sky, their wingbeats silenced by wind and wave.

The rock on which I sit is an ecosystem of its own. Moss, lichen, and strands of wool make a tapestry of colour, light and shade. A story in stone.

As the sun lowers a new sound. Tremulous notes rise and fall, filling the air with a melody that is familiar yet strange.  It is like the wild wind howling on a stormy night. Yet softer too, glass bottles singing in a summer breeze.

I listen entranced by the selkies song, while in the fading light, worlds of sea and sky merge

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