One of the outstanding memories of 2014 was the sea at Hunstanton in early December.  I felt the presence of the other that one senses in confrontations with the great  mysteries of nature as never before:

                    Or sometimes at the seaside on a cold winters’ day
                    Distant houses blurred with rain and the sea cold and grey
                    Holiday makers gone  and boarding houses shut
                    Gulls crying sadly and the tide far out –                                                                                             

the ever restless and ever restful ocean; the vast skies with clouds scrawled across them as if the streaks and blobs of some ancient hieroglyphic writing; the harsh cries of the seabirds;  the tides changing with an almost frightening absolute regularity as if to the bidding of some giant cosmic clock each time leaving the beach as new and clean as if it were a first beginning; strange stranded life forms  from a time so long past the earth had almost forgotten them until now;  the many voices of the sea sometimes roaring hysterically and sometimes drumming peremptorily on sand and yet at others crooning  its hushed maternal lullaby as little waves come gently to the shore –

                                                     â€¦.the whole scene almost relieves
                   My pressing need for intercourse with the beautiful
                   In ways sex, somehow, never quite achieves 


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