Another year on the fjord

This is what it's like: Waking to Munch's sunrise, a plain strip of white rolling out from the horizon across the fjord. The sound of seagulls, boat moorings clinking, the bullfinch on the blackthorn bush next to my window and the tideless waves lapping, lapping. There is nothing but green and blue here. We are all undone. The rowan, the silver birch, the harebells, some wild geraniums are here. A climbing hydrangea wraps around a window. And so, we come to the blue sea to replenish.