Halliards Poems

The Storm

Sailing boats, out of the water for the winter, as 
though lined up against an impending storm. All 
their halliards shaking vigorously, sounding 
like birds in flight.

Low tide and the wild geese, further out in 
the water today, are almost hidden behind a long 
natural breakwater. I hear them honking for the 
first time, muted, in the distance, drifting in gently 
on the wind, sounding like in slow motion. Then, 
between the rocks they enter the mudflats, sailing in 
like many ships heading for harbour - an armada of
geese. There’s a dampness in the air that clings to 
reality like an odour. The weather is changing, and 
later on,  much later, as though greeting an 
unexpected friend, the rain will arrive.

The storm passes and as night descends, the 
vapour trail from an aircraft, which has a pleasant 
orange glow, tracks its demise. Early next day, on 
a calm February morning, geese are again visiting 
the estuary. I hear them outside as I lie in bed. Later, 
walking through a spring like idyll, small birds 
bloom on bare trees.