redshank on the edge

A need to be out. Out in the elements and storm debris. For I am stuck: head stuck and I want to get out.

A fox was the first thing, sleekit across the road before me snow-smeared and tail a dampening fire. Halfway out it loses its purpose and retreats dangerously back into the oncoming wheels of the car I'm driving. A miss. A near miss, the window sleet smeared, my heart ignited for impact.

Shaken I keep on driving. I keep to my purpose, ignoring the signs and not wanting to turn back. For I am head-sodden with doubt and stasis and have come out to the winter sky hoping to let it out. Turning back has its dangers.

I arrive and walk along the shoreline's path. Spume meringue-light where the water licks the land, a froth. Further along and there, legs on fire, is a solitary redshank wading light through the dense knot and wrack of seaweed, edging its way to the water, the air. It catches my attention, and I am rapt by its purpose. How it straddles these elements, stilt striding the slippery taste of iron on wet rock.
There is the weight of water behind it, of course. Gathering the air pressure and dipping and turbulent in its swing and uncertain gait. It tilts and peaks and gathers and collides and dips and meets and peaks and lurches. Deep oscillation that the bird moves towards, its slender probe a divining rod to next action.
I realise I have been standing still for some time entranced by the way the redshank is pinning down the three elements of land and sea and sky. I feel lighter, expectant at its next move and to what purpose it takes it. How easily it can unpin the rock and take its slender pointed legs into a new domain. How perfect it is that it can do this. That this is simply its purpose, to be a perfect wader.
I leave it where it stands. It is getting wetter and I turn back and head for the dry and warmth of the car. The internal dip and peak and collision in my mind has been calmed on this shoreline. I needed to get out, that was all I knew. Then this. My purpose.

Onwards.