Cushendun Beach #2

The sound of thousands of pebbles
Round and hard, rubbing together.
Pulled by the sea, the relentless sea.
Pulled into the shallows,
Then flung back to the shore.
An endless repetition
All day, all night, back and forth.

The pewter plate sea reflecting the sky
Sometimes a white crested fury, pounding the shore.
Rushing the dunes up to timbers and wire
But always retreating to regather forces.
Then, as if nothing had happened,
Returning to workmanlike calm.

Pushing and pulling, back and forth.
Rounding the pebbles,
Smoothing the shards.
Thousands of glistening beads,
The proud remains of glacial headlands
That towered and loomed over the sea,
Watching for rivals in sunny Kintyre.