The sands now are out in the estuary
beyond a multitude of reeds and a
labyrinth of runnels, nearer Wales than
England. We walk along the old sandstone
seawall, side by side, looking up as we talk
towards that startling, empty horizon
– midway between Point of Air and Hilbre.
What confidence in the future to build
a sea defence as far as the next parish!
We make way for joggers and dog walkers:
at Cottage Lane, return to a built
horizon – Flint Castle on the distant shore,
Connah’s Quay power station where the river
narrows and Parkgate’s white houses straight ahead.
Always uplifting, always familiar,
never dull, neither shadow nor substance,
this is our fiftieth year strolling this
seaside resort deserted by the sea.
Will there still be a Nicholls’ ice cream each
before we head for home and a tub
of Mealor’s potted shrimps to share for tea?