THE HUNTER ON THE FALLEN ROCKS 

The Earth fell Jagged into The Ocean

Its violence now the providence of rock pools

Adventurous headland walks for child and adult alike

Tumbling molten lava in the time of heat and dinosaur

Had burnt and suffocated everything in its path

Had bubbled ferrous, carbon, and copper

Had eaten up the air in sulphurous intoxication

The Four-Year-Old crouched Patiently

On steeped basalt, smoothed by salty sea

Holding net of green, pole of less than a yard

There are long strands of deep green weed

Among the bulbs and jagged leaves of bladderwrack

The slipping, sliding carpets of kelp and dulse

Tiny toes grip sandals tight; waiting

The Pale Sun disperses through Early Mist

Once it could not be seen, because of smoke

And dust, the sky blackened in vomited ash

But now the morning heat cleanses, the sky

An azure blue, oxygen rich, housing a sparkling jewel

The shadows are shortening and tide is rising

To the carrelets, square nets hung high above the spray

 
The Crab Stirs. A Single Bubble in the Transparency

Our rock-pooler remains intent

There are no goby or blenny here like home

These Atlantic reservoirs seem barren except for vegetation

Evidence of life is more subtle, our hunter kens

He will capture, imprison, and finally release his quarry

Once, that is, the quarry is scooped, unceremoniously, up

The People Run, Walk, Pause; take Photographic Images

Feet scraping the loose shale and gravel

At times, stopping over shaves and rises of rock

Some simply sit, letting the breeze caress their skin

Salt spray swirls up from the hidden cliff base

Ancient rock covered in barnacle and moss

Wild grasses and cornflower nestle, thistles too

The Two Inch, Single Pincer Crustacean

Swipe, jerk, stab, yell, squawk, scream

Got him, got the crab, got him, got him

Struggles, pointed legs trapped in the mesh

The father, though asleep, leaps with bucket

Purposeful, careful with haste, but too late

A deep, guttural sigh emits; the child cries

The Pain of Loss – Nature tends to Freedom

Time for lunch for the four year old

After an hour of patience, twenty seconds of frenzy

These costal rocks, volcanic detritus, high, low

Gullied, pressed together, scattered in the sand

Hidden in the tide, once erupting, flaring, violent

Twenty seconds of rage, a million millennia of peace

(C) Trevor Maynard 2015