that area that neither belongs to the sea nor to the land...

They never said you could anchor.

This land is filled with ravens' nests,
forests of bells, here,
at your feet
so purple deep
no one dares touch
but archangels.

Don't turn your head back towards sea.

Afar, bonxies* feast on your fears 
in ravaged skies...
They call you "rogue",
wandering seed 
lost inside dusk;

Don't ask petrels for directions.

And when your eyes turn into rust,
raven claws snatch your will to smile -
tear to pieces light in iris, your fragile wings on your shloulders.

Let me gather all your feathers tarnished with red.

In Arcania, no cliff hanger;
we're free to love,
run inside waves that never sting
or burn our skin,
as we drown our tears 
in shallows. 

© Nat Hall 2010

...and talking of blue

I'm an air sign and to me, this is natural

...but hey, this is not me on the picture! Just a representation. That lass on a French yacht was inspirational.

The images below were harvested as I shared my side of the shore with guests from the world: Japan, the US, Finland, Britain, Germany, France, Belgium, Canada... Magic moments full of blue.

Not an obsession, blue - just my favourite colour.

Requiem in Blue

Each note is meant to please the sun.

There’s a piano here at the sands,
legs in water, washed, wrangled, wrecked between two storms,
born to endure each of world tide, moon in anger,
pleas from tied hands,
our hearts bleeding on sun-dried stones,
where children play on a whisper.

Let light switched on across the sky – torch of dreamers that doesn’t lie,
it shines so freely on water, like an omen or a dancer
all dressed in hues of one ocean…

I shall write it deep inside us,
like a sonnet tattooed on shells,
a suite of rhymes we left to drift across our earth –
exotic drums only respond to tiny bells
so tightly wrapped around ankles,
as piano responds deep in kelp… to the otter or nautilus.

Let light switched on across the sky – torch of dreamers we can’t deny,
it shines so freely on water, like an omen or a dancer
all dressed in hues of one ocean…

Each note is meant for you & I.


Nat, northern garden, 16 October 2008

taste of summer

Only a few hours ago,  it was all so different then... 

If I could smell my end of term like drying kelp on the shore, now I can see and feel starlings feasting on it!

June went out with a bang... Light night, shetland-blue in colour, placid, peaceful.
July began with rain and fog. Yet the island feels mysterious and by some twist of cosmic proportion, blue filled our impetuous sky as school bell went.  We rushed outside to the harbour in search of light, friendly faces and tasteful lunch :).

The island still harbours the world... If hamefarers made their way back to their place of birth, visitors wander through da street and Esplanade, always in search of adventures. Today Marco Polo anchored in Bressay Sound. 


Too soon again, I'll put back on my guiding cap and share treasures with explorers! :)

Others wander across oceans en solitaire to moor moments in one harbour...

Of all the flags found along bollards, I pictured this one at lunchtime. One day ago, Thurs 1 July, Canada celebrated a birthday. My heart does not forget dear friends from Atlantic or Pacific... 


Talking of which...


Atlantic Home 

Oh, wow, I found a bottle in the sea.
water-washed words,
it spoke of shores,
my horizon can imagine...
and I, the raven follower, begin to dream;
Richibucto,
Kouchibouguac,
Blueberry Field, Miscou Island,
Hopwell Rocks,
Chignecto Bay, Bay of Fundy,
your Confederation bridge as a lifeline to Prince Edward and unity -
raven's homeground, twin with my world...
North Cape,
Pleasant Valley,
East Point Lighthouse,
Peggy's Cove,
Caribou,
Cape Breton,
Ile Madame... I love this sudden switch of tongue!
au nom des lèvres du St Laurent

Now I feel home on either side of Atlantic.

Nat, 5 april/avril 2009

Atlantik Hame 

Der, I fin dee a'da shoormal,
wirds fae dy wirld ida bottle laek a hansel by da banks broo,
dey spaek o mony geos an taings,
laand oda corbie an da craa…
Noo let me tell dee o me side,
fae Muckle Flugga ta Foula,
a hundert islaand ida sang whar I feel hame
atween solan an Atlantik…
Fair Isle, Papa Stour, Muckle Roe.
Fae da mainlaand,
Tangwick,
Eshaness, wir wastside –
Saint Magnus Bay
ta protect wis.
Dat brig o saand
ta Saint Ninian mair ta da sooth…
Simmerdim,
sky athoot da staars,
whar men still wirk ida paet banks,
an peerie fokk hide ahind stanes…
du micht even see a njuggle drink ida burn if du’sna fairt.
…I too switch tongues to please my heart,
my nordic home and Atlantic.

© Nat Hall 2009