Keep Zen Water-wind-waltz. Empty your heart from all its ink, dirty & dark, indelible. Let one by one flow down your thoughts – that rationale that plays a trick in the meanders of your soul. Today all junk wrecked in my head feels like driftwood lost on a beach, eaten away by time and salt. There’s a blue rope tied to a buoy, orange in colour, platonic. It stares at us like a decoy. I love that word in dialect that describes life washed off by waves – Shetlanders call it da shoormal. There’s a heartbeat in each limpet that wants to escapes at high tide. They stick to rocks like sellotape until water fills in their pride… Look for their prints on this blank page; each one of them’s a hedonist.
Mire-wind-rain. Tie up your boots, we go uphill. Fishermen built a thousand meads to remind them where to find home and family… Peaty liquid runs in my veins to irrigate our wildest streams; theatrical like a cascade, always rushing to drain our pain – elemental to quench our dreams. © Nat Hall