Dove Crag Island is created by my human-scale movement and my imagination. I walk the island once each month across the turning of the year. For Terminalia I walk an eight-mile shoreline … a boundary of an imagined island … in north Northumberland.

In light snow I walk
the shore of Dove Crag Island.
The land is sodden.

Amongst The Oaks
one blackbird flies, then three more.
Cold grips the woodland.

Boot-knock on wet boards.
I stand on the wooden bridge
above the tumbling burn.

The shoreline turns east.
Amongst trees my chill eases
as the wind drops away.

I watch a field empty.
Sheep run to the sound of
the shepherd’s quad bike.