Last night, according to reliable sources there was an eclipse, visible on the other side of the world. By invitation, I walked on the beach, in celebration. These are my morning-after notes. It was about 10.45pm when we set out from the car park.
It's a far from perfect piece of writing, but serves, I hope, to deliver a few snapshots of a magical, but perhaps potentially dangerous outing..!
Walking between the light and the dark, caught between the breaking sky and its own reflection; between advancing sea and the safety of the land- not quite the sea and not quite the land; our wet foot prints melted away behind us. Took cautious note at the feet of fallen giants; their forms made seductive shapes to draw us further from the dunes.
Lindisfarne's sea-facing shore; the distant waves caught like horses in the stalls; impatient to race the course and cross the high-tide finish line.
We saw a dragon-cloud bring his night black wings across the sky and chase retreating blue and orange to the West.
We woke the birds who called out 'Who is that, who is that? Disturb the neighbourhood, would you? This is our time now. You visitors; haven't you got beds to go to?
To the friendly embers of early evening, we showed our backs and stumbled into someone else's dream:
As if the Island had declared its office hours closed, the friendly guides and pilgrims paths all vanished and the mainland lights twinkled, devilishly.
The Island said, 'you are on your own, now, kids.'
Our feet found the treacherous pits and sea-filled ridges. Fear found measureless depths, twisted ankles, drownings. We weighed our common sense and abilities against the stampeding tide; imagination conspired to put a spring in retreating footsteps.
We headed back toward the light.