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The Toft

the toft


Peach-coloured sun,

pulling up and away from the horizon.

Wind-wipped waves

frothing and foaming.

And the sand underfoot on tarmac,

gathering like a million miniature crystal leaves.


Flashes of red, turquoise and white

as the windsurfers battle to stay upright.

The clouds darken as the sun

lights up the toft.


Inside, in a leather chair

by the log fire,

with a virgin oak malt

that warms and comforts.


I begin to navigate.



Sandy Wilkie, 2023

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