The heather of these dunes smells sweeter in the warmth of a storm's breath,
the inhale before the ex that plunges me in thickening air.
A lost bee confused and angered by it knows not what,
runs wild before the crest of the approach.
Waves unhindered by the beach,
the pebble dashed line of lands last defense,
blurs in the crescendo's of a north sea shower.
Sheets of grey marching resolutely westwards.
I am enveloped in the changes that make this another time, another place.
Displaced from before I am awakened to the harsh now.