the toft

Peach-coloured sun,

pulling up and away from the horizon.

Wind-wipped waves

frothing and foaming.

And the sand underfoot on tarmac,

gathering like a million miniature crystal leaves.

Flashes of red, turquoise and white

as the windsurfers battle to stay upright.

The clouds darken as the sun

lights up the toft.

Inside, in a leather chair

by the log fire,

with a virgin oak malt

that warms and comforts.

I begin to navigate.

Sandy Wilkie, 2023