Bilsdean Creek

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Down Bilsdean Creek where fresh and salt water meet,

the bladderwrack rehydrating incoming tide chases

tiny trout upstream  to the overhanging hazel branch

sanctuary of dappled dancing sunlight where they flit

back and forth under the ever watchful kingfisher

shimmering electric blue glints of nervous anticipation

By whelk denuded tidal pools, Freddy the refugee

with his rusty bike, tin can kettle and bent safety pin

waits patiently for his stream water to boil

A hip flask of vinegar and folded envelope of pepper

are produced with theatrical flourish from a tattered

baling twine belted overcoat and placed on the rock

From Fife the haunting groans of the fog horns echo

around the mist cloaked cliffs where Glasgow boys

once set up their easels and squeezed red ochre

onto palettes of roof slate to sing praises to nature

The water boils in the smoke blackened tin can

the mussels open in surrender among the whelks

the tide inches forward grinding empty shells to sand

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