On an empty crescent of perfect sand

in January,

Christmas lights still necklacing

the beach-front along the promenade

while wild rollers galloped in,

sun-sparks scintillating off their crests.

St Ives in Cornwall,

renowned for its ephemeral radiance -the luminosity between water and air

at that exact latitude and angle;

magnetising artists, artisans

 and aficionados of light,

with cameras, canvasses and crafts;

their studios and galleries

 huddling behind the sea-front

 down alley-ways and back-lanes,

as well as along coast paths

where  hikers, dog walkers, picnickers

even poets - all sea-besotted ones

and  light worshippers, gather.

 

On that  bright and chilly morning

no- one about, tea and coffee shops

still closed,

one solitary figure pottered

beach-combing along the shore line,

indenting the quaggy sand

with footprints as iconic

as Cro-magnon Mans’  left in stone.

Waves were incoming, bold and green creaming and fizzing around her feet:

surging up and sucking back

according to the immemorial schedules

of the lunar-loving tides.

 

So she rolled her trousers to her knees.

 

Next, she took them off,

draping them over a bolder

and returned to her pilgrimish progress

along the curly edges

betwixt  the dancing  elements.

 

Next, a rogue breaker soaked

her sloppy-jo sweater - just the  bottom, over her bum!

So, wading deeper, getting wetter

bit by bit the rest of her kit came off

 - to be traipsed over the sticky-out rock

till it looked like a washing line

and she reborn, an elder mermaid, bare.

It took awhile, more biffs  and blows,

pummelled, knocked  over, saturate

before emerging a’splutter, exhilarant,

breathlessly, joyfully afloat;

that  primordial crawl from sea to land

full-circle returning, aha! to source.

 

But it was cold to the bone!

So, with numb fingers fumbling,

the jumper, jacket, stringy bits

were approximately reinstated,

wooly hat an’ all.

 

Back on the quay-side, sandy-toed

she plonked herself onto the cobbles

to wrestle  socks onto frozen feet

 - and into her walking boots.

 

At that unpeopled hour and place:

of a sudden, a voice in her ear!

An old man, courteously doffed his hat:

“Madam!  Are you the lady

who just got in the sea?”

She looked around. No-one else about

 - apart from a distant dog walker.

“Um, yes!” fiddling with her shoelaces.

 

“Well, you made 8 men very happy,”

he said.

And was gone.