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Earlsferry Beach Cricket Match


Peter Burrows

One bay, two villages, facing as edges
of a rising smile. The tide’s retreat beyond
the sandy harbour. The glistening beach
rolled smooth. Lines drawn. Passers-by
tarry as those in the know, beers in hand,
ice-creams for children, claim their space.

Capped figures stand in position; shifting
foot to foot as white blurs jog back and forth.
Numbered tiles replaced after each applause
that carries out to sea…

That sparkling horizon. Between, an endless
turning over. Days, years, places, faces. Where
are we now? All ages heave and flow.
Elsewhere is here. Here, elsewhere. Reflecting back,
out there, bobbing like a watching seal.

A dozed collective, sunken into this moment
like deckchair legs in sand, so lazed,
even dogs don’t raise heads at passing balls.
Daydreaming until the crack of a bat
hitting for six - village to village - jolts.

The tide turns. Sunned faces, dogs
with sand in their paws, stretch and yawn.
Blankets shaken; folded into themselves. Retreat
to the Inn. Retreat from within. Blinking hellos
into the chatter of Now.

Later, linger. Lean over the harbour wall:
Sea runs lapping tides rippling overs
boundaries markings prints washed away
only impressions what of today

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