A Sunday in February

I walked along the empty windblown sands
Northerlies blowing turning my face to ice
I headed for the Island
Where the raw power and majesty of nature pounded the granite rocks
And washed away all cobwebs of the mind.
I climbed the well trodden steps to the Lifeboat Lookout
And crested the outpost looking out to endless sea
No boundaries or horizons hemming me in
The North Westerlies blowing through my very being.
I then descended to a sheltered bench backed by high shrubs full of bird life.
A single crow came to commune with me
I called him Edgar and we sat in silence  grateful for the rays of the late afternoon sun on our winter skins.