Penarth Beach, South Wales 2011

The kiss of the sea on the sand of the shore

Or the breath of the wind through my hair

Are the touch of the fingers of maiden or whore

And the memories she shared with me there.

The lap of the tides as they stoke at my toes

And the curl of the crest of the wave

Are the whispers of secrets which nobody knows

And the memories my sweet mistress gave.

The beach is a liminal space, a joining-place between the sea, the land and the sky. It is changeable and shifting, constantly in flux. The beach is a threshold, belonging to all places and yet not truly part of any of them. Like the ancient hedge to which the term 'hedgewitch' refers, the crossroads or mountaintops, it is a place of uncertainty and indecision. For some people, that uncertainty is too much. Like the coming of a storm, it sends them running for cover. Others let it wash over them, lapping like the waves on the shore.