Where dark skies glower o’er grey seas and greyer cliffs
Daily they search the shingle and the rocks for signs of fossils
Life which they say, once was; now gone;
Once flesh and bone; now become stone.
Following the shoreline, head bowed, sight funnelled
As with blinders, focussed but without the peripheral
The geologist scours the beach for proof of evolution.
While here sit I, above the littoral; looking down and out to sea
Along the coast of ancient rocks of times of my existence;
Jurassic coast, where time bleeds into the beach.
He sees his footprints in the sand, and I see mine;
For here we meet across millennia; in this place;
This earthly space where our soles show
That both our souls; have touched Creation.
When I visited the Jurassic coast of Dorset, England, recently, it was grey and overcast, eerie and moon-like, as though primordial times still existed. I could not help but picture the dinosaurs which once roamed here and whose fossilised bones sometimes fall (bleed) onto the beach as proof of an existence we can hardly imagine. Footprints too have been found along the coast and so often, as with much of mature, it is a case of being able to recognise, see things, which otherwise we might walk past. I imagined that the dinosaurs were still present as if in another time or realm, for we both walked this land; we are both part of creation.
Poem and photo copyright Englepip©