We have a slow, gentle project on the go – walking as much of the King Charles III Coastal Path as we feel able to. This summer, we escaped the heat down south and made our way to the beginning on the east side, and walked down from the Scottish border to Lindisfarne – Holy Island. It was soft and wild and alive with nature and interest. I’ve been working on some poems that grew out of the walk, and had a sort of plan to publish them on here in order, following the route. I may still do that, if I can, but I’m finding the poems are arising in their own way and time, and have no respect for maps or routes. So we’ll see…. I hope a collection will emerge which does follow the path in time.

At any rate, I’m beginning at the beginning – the Scottish border – the first part of the first walk. We took the bus north from Berwick upon Tweed and walked back. It’s a simple poem. I felt the contrast between the concrete, rational world of maps and steps and the strangeness of the Island in the distance, her mystery and her character glimpsed as we walked.

Just in Scotland. The gate marks England and the beginning of the coast path. In the misty distance there may be some islands….

Crossing the border, walking south

Turn and look up –
follow the wandering line of coast
down from this slight rise of cliffs,
south to almost the edge of sight –

And you will see, in the distance, a shape near
the shore.  A cloud, maybe, a trick of the light?

The cloud stays as you walk, grows a little
clearer.  It has a shape that draws you
towards it, time and space folded,
compacted, so you see –
in your mind’s eye –

perhaps, a great rock, with a castle,
perhaps an island dipping
her shoulders in the sea and letting
her heart grow accustomed to its chill,
her breath short and insistent.

How far away she is.  How insubstantial,
shifting, alive in the water.
How unlike an island on a map.
And yet, that is where we are heading,
if we can.  That is where we are walking,
if the breeze stays cool and our feet
stay firm enough, sure enough,
and our strength matches the days.

It might be a journey home,
it feels stranger, more unknown
even though it is also simply
step after step.  I raise my eyes,
the destination already visible,

the sky fair, the path before us clear. 
Yet we are walking
into mystery
even so.