Solitude.

A whale rises from the depths of the ocean

his body black against the blue of the sea,

yet he is neither sinister nor harmful.

He frolics in joy upon the surface,

broaching in great showers of spray.

His huge tail smashes the waves,

and he is beautiful.

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A mighty stag stands upon the moor and tosses his head.

His pride feels not the hail or the sleet.

Bracken and the purple heather are his carpet.

I am his enemy, but he doesn't hate me.

How then can I hurt him?

For he is unafraid,

and he is beautiful.

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An oystercatcher's lonely call drifts and echoes on the shore;

desolate; just he and I together.

Breakers crash and tumble onto the slate-grey;

dark clouds haunt the horizon

overshadowing my very thoughts.

Yet it is beautiful.