Clouds over Norwich Market

A sudden grey sky 

turns noon to dusk.

Rain plunges down,

people swarm

to reach the cover

of brightly painted

striped roofs.

Murmurs and groans

smother the air.

Squawks and wails 

from unhappy tots

pierce through the 

fast, heavy pitter-patter

as water pounds

the metallic canopies.

Herded through a maze

of darkened alleys,

jackets rub

elbows and shoulders. 

Toes kick heels.

Squish, push, 

bump and poke.

Feet shuffle,

side-swiped 

by rolling wheels.

Wet handbags

smack into chests.

Stray droplets, 

from soaked hair 

and saturated hoods,

splash faces.

Aromas of 

chilled brine

pungent copper 

sweet malt 

dewy-botanical 

saccharine citrus 

bitter sulfur 

salt and vinegar,

swirl and waft out 

behind a sea of backs.

Steam rises 

as kettles boil,

bacon sizzles,

sausages spit. 

Scarves and baskets 

hang on hooks 

up high, 

a wicker coffin?  

Could it be?

Search for a pocket 

of space to breathe. 

© Nichola Lovell 

I Am West Runton

I am West Runton

I am the old nag that your father lifted up placing you high on my back, flies buzzing all around.

I am the fossil found by your children, as they wander in and out of my cold wet puddles, with coarse sand sticking to their feet.

I am the cold flint that you turn over to reveal the pattern and smooth bottom of a 2 million year old sea urchin.

I am the cold east wind that blows, lifting the sand and blasting your face, in your eyes, and up your nose.

I am the sea with my waves rushing and crashing onto the shore, retreating with a mouthful of pebbles only to throw them down in the next wave.  

I am the smell of hot chocolate that wafts down my shore, from the café half way up the hill, delivered in white china mugs, to warm your hand. 

I am where you can stand and watch the wind turbines turning slowly in the wind, waves crashing around them circled by gulls.

I am West Runton, I was here long before man walked upon my shores, and I will be here long after man stops walking upon these earthly shores.

Gill Ashton