All the songbirds of North Wales this afternoon

it seems – in the old woodlands behind the beach –

are singing their undaunted polyphonies.

Three narrow streams trickle onto the strand.

Under the glinting grains of sand is water.

A flock of oyster catchers speeds squeaking

along the sea’s edge. On the horizon,

where there are always ships – sailing at high tide,

or anchored at low water – there are none

this late afternoon waiting to cross the bar,

only layers of cumulus catching

the last of the sun above the large island

beyond the empty skyline to the north.

An owl hoots in the woods. Perhaps there will be

dolphins out in the bay.