Past the Cristal flooring warehouse, along the Laira. The slop-slop of grey green water a foot below the top of the gabions. North easterly blowing in one ear and out the other as I spin down The Ride to the travellers' camp, followed by an ice cream van (Just one Cornetto). Lone black gelding snuffling the verge across from two visiting caravans: a plastic stool makes a step below the door; beige flip-flops and a clear plastic sack of tumble-dried clothes sat on wet tarmac. Red generator, dark green portaloo with its door ajar, shiny yellow trailer.
Late November sun sets behind dark shreds. Lemon icing honeysuckle flowers, floury pink Valerian, a second bloom of gorse buds. Cold leaf mash under the trees. A handful of raggy black rooks thrown against the grey-blue sky; rising, then falling back, caught by the roost. The bones of the Ocean Maid thick with water.