THE CRYING OF THE GULLS

This desolation
Fills a longing inside of me
This narrow edge of nothing
This wild sea

Crashing of the waves
Crying of the gulls
This naked wind
Inside my skull … inside my skull

Beauty and death
Inside my skull
Crashing of the waves
Crying of the gulls … crying of the gulls

Beauty and death
Inside my skull
Crashing of the waves
Crying
Crying

THE CRYING OF THE GULLS
We rode on the roof of the landrover, huddled up in oilskins for the cold and wet, along the seemingly endless stretch of narrow wet sand between desert and sea. The coastal fog comes as a surprise after hours of dry, burning heat. The Skeleton Coast has mile upon mile of empty, desolate coastline. The wind is fierce. There is often little else to hear beyond the sound of the sea and the crying of the gulls. It is not a place for people who don’t do wild and empty.

  • Barbara Fairhead