I Am West Runton

I am West Runton

I am the old nag that your father lifted up placing you high on my back, flies buzzing all around.

I am the fossil found by your children, as they wander in and out of my cold wet puddles, with coarse sand sticking to their feet.

I am the cold flint that you turn over to reveal the pattern and smooth bottom of a 2 million year old sea urchin.

I am the cold east wind that blows, lifting the sand and blasting your face, in your eyes, and up your nose.

I am the sea with my waves rushing and crashing onto the shore, retreating with a mouthful of pebbles only to throw them down in the next wave.  

I am the smell of hot chocolate that wafts down my shore, from the café half way up the hill, delivered in white china mugs, to warm your hand. 

I am where you can stand and watch the wind turbines turning slowly in the wind, waves crashing around them circled by gulls.

I am West Runton, I was here long before man walked upon my shores, and I will be here long after man stops walking upon these earthly shores.

Gill Ashton