The ascent of this deep score causes my lungs to swell and burn.
Summit reached, the trees no longer cover me
a sudden gush of wind fills my hood.
Cold crisp air sharply inhaled as the clear call of a gull rings in my ears.
Watering eyes cast afar reveal smeared dark clouds.
A sense of wintery foreboding covers this stretch of coast.
Dead factories, blackened house bricks and peeling painted lintels.
Summer laughter lights these coast towns, winter reveals a ghost town.
What light can I bring, what sense of meaning?
Once trod by thousands, these scores now lurk in the darkness
of street corners as their occupants once did.
I descend, hurring to keep up with my feet.
Behind buildings there is shelter, almost warmth,
but not visible... just there,
much as I feel when on this vast beach, not visible,
just there.