A speck of grit

that evolved pearl-like amongst the other small, shelled, sea creatures

along the Jurassic coast waters, I come from salt and deep waters.

 

My first home gave me a window upon blue-purple-green dancing tides

golden sands and brought the tang of brine in the air –

and turning inland, the crisp fresh scents of the ancient oaks and Redwoods

of the New Forest, verdant greens and dappled sunlight

you could almost catch on your tongue,

and even there, the wetlands and streams gave rise to tributaries

that forged their way out, back to the Solent.

And, being a water-baby, I grew up understanding the concept of harbour,

even though the house I lived in rarely felt like one.

 

This grit, this pearl, has since had homes on sticky-hot, humid, tropical islands,

in bustling cities, all grime, noise and hurry-hurry

and in numerous villages in Welsh valleys, across the belly, the mid-lands, of England

to the eastern bulge of Norfolk as home often has to be where and what you make it.

 

but always, for me, home is not about bricks and mortar, town or village-

but proximity to the sea, that liberating fresh salty taste at the back of your throat

as you step outside, the vibrant colours, play of seasons, space and light

to give perspective, a real sense of where you are.

It makes the difference as to whether I am more grit or pearl.

So, when I’m finally done- please let me go home,

just give me back to the sea.