Leaf 163 – Reflections
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A short way along the coast from
the village in Cornwall, where my family always used to stay for our summer
holidays when I was growing up, there was a buoy. It wasn’t easy to see, but it
was easy to hear. Often, the somewhat mournful sound of its bell tolling,
either in the wind or from the motion of the waves, would drift across the sea
and up the cliffs. You could hear it, marking time with your footfalls as you
walked along the coast road. I’m not sure what the purpose was of this
particular buoy, it could simply have been a channel marker or it might have
been marking the site of a wreck.
Bell on the buoy
tolling the turns
of wind and wave
