A sea-battered cluster of rocks flung by a giant hand
A necklace of blacks, greys, greens, browns nestling in a sandy bed
Surrounded by crashing surf, bent by relentless winds and lashed by icy rain
Or lapped by gentle waves, kissed by warm breezes and caressed by the lightest rain
Spring brings the discerning lovers of balmy days, fields of yellow daffodils
The calm before the stampede
The walkers, nature lovers, itinerant workers
Who do not mind the sudden showers, sunny days and violent storms
In Summer visitors flock like migrating birds
Flooding the five islands, each with their different characteristics
Looking for a break from their frantic lives
They disperse between the islands to find sparsly populated beaches on which to relax
Autumn is the bridge between summer and winter
Grey and foggy some days, sunshine inbetween
Boats are brought ashore for refitting, either congregating in the boat park
Or dotted about the island in deserted fields
Winter shows the islands at their most desolate
The bleak landscape is unchanged by rain, wind and unexpected sunny days
The constant buffeting jeopardises the movement of aircraft and boats
Essential lifelines needed for survival as everything arrives and departs this way
This is where I was born and grew up
I do not choose to live there now, nor do I want to
But my parents are still there, so when I go back it’s not for a holiday
I’m going home.
