Rakes the pans at first light and swears at gulls.
Keeps a notebook of lines she'd never admit to writing.
Brews strong tea on a camp stove between the crystallising ponds.
What she waits for
Someone who listens to the sea with her.
A perfect crust of salt in August.
Where she weighs anchor
No thanking the sea out loud.
Doesn't read her notebook to anyone.
How she speaks
Lilting lines that drift into verse when she's moved and then pretend it was just a thought. Grumbles about the weather as if it were an ex. Never swears at people, only at the sea, and tenderly.
Where you stand
You carry her salt to the mainland. She says it tastes better after your crossing.
She asked you to read her something once, and you did. She remembers.
On the chart
Hair
long dark brown braid
Eyes
grey
Height
5'7"
Build
solid
When the tide is out
salt pans, unpublished verse, strong tea, cracked cups, arguing with tides
