The art of sitting, by Britta Benson

The art of sitting On your waterproof poncho, folded out flat on the beach. I want to be touching distance to the sea. You know this is silly, and we laugh as we sink deep and deeper into March-cold sand. On a wooden bench, side by side above the bay, basking in sunshine, clumps of

Deep water poetess, by Britta Benson

This poem is my response to Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing Prompt: https://wordpress.com/read/feeds/20204174/posts/3869536963 This week’s prompt is ‘Rune’, in 96 words. I went for a walk on one of my favourite beaches today in North Berwick and looking at the wet sand, I saw all the little marks, dips, crevasses left by the sea, constantly changing.

Sea gods, by Britta Benson

I spent the day in North Berwick. From the summit of North Berwick I looked onto the beach. Later, I went along the beach and observed a few swimmers. I’m always in awe of winter swimmers. Today, for a brief moment, I felt inspired, upon watching them. I rolled up my trousers and wanted to