This is what the world was like.

The Atlantic narrowed to a slither of sea

between long, gorse-yellowed hills.

A gannet flew close to the small, slow waves.

I stood at the tide’s edge and waited

for a seal to rise beside a dinghy buoy

and look at me, and breathe.

In the end, no seal came

the bright air turned to rain

but I watched a gannet glide

over Loch Striven, silent and strange

as a spear of love.