Hit By a Cornish Storm

When the wilds of England's coast get wilder

The magic of the coast never eludes me, whatever the weather or the season. The sea is as powerful a destroyer as it is a healer.

This is a poem I had fun writing during the wilds of Storm Eunice in February 2022. Enjoy…

Pexels

The wind’s first whispers come in small and silent,
gently whipping the sand on the beach,
showering it upon the walkers and the wanderers who are tentatively tempting fate.

Then more wildly; whistling through the caves,
the wet walls laughing their wet tears,
watching the vain wind lashing with all its might…to no avail.

The cave walls have seen many a storm and housed many in refuge,
sheltered many a smuggler,
and watched many a ship swaying and surging in a swell.

The Cornish rocks, ravaged by rain
have seen many a roamer and many a rambler,
and many a rogue, running free, far from foes.

And if you, like I, love the legends of old,
we see the faery people floating in the fierce gusts;
Cornish pixies pelting and pranking the people as the storm strengthens.

The windswept peninsula with its bent-over trees,
curved by the force of the gales,
leans, all together, into the land beyond; the rest of England,
as Cornwall takes the worst of the weather from the wild waves of the Atlantic Ocean.

Taking one for the team.

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First published on Medium in 2022.