ST MICHAEL’S MOUNT

Water cascading over the causeway.
In England’s far South West mist and rain rolling in.
Here the sea will never be kept entirely at bay.
The Westerly wind scraping the skin.

I walk through the Terrace Gardens, a riot of colours.
Indian shot, tree aeonium, blue aster, bigfoot geranium, guernsey lily.
I miss my box of watercolours.
But how could I do justice to this with my hands so chilly.

The crowds walk up to the castle.
All is bustle and interest.
I wonder if people wonder in all this hassle.
What this place was born to witness.

That once this was a priory dedicated to the Guardian Angel St Michael.
From Monastery to Castle besieged and tourist haven a thousand years is but a cycle.