Hungry Hill

Foaming layers shift,
Motionless sea birds glide by
on disparate planes.
Blue black rocks come up for air,
gulping bottle greeny breaths.

How perfect is this - a tanka (31 syllable poem) from my pal Pol's book The Silence Unravelling. A glimpse across to the Beara and Hungry Hill, everchanging under its cloudy winter wear.

Friends coming for lunch tomorrow - a cauldron of soup made, mince pies also and a quick zoom around with the hoover undertaken. The weather still wild.