Meal Beach, Burra Isles, Shetland by Robin Gosnall
They called her the Lightworker because she
always healed with the Light. At her touch, woman,
or man, any whose lives were grey and flat like
sand were drawn into her Light. You did not
so much see, as sense its reflection as
your pain and suffering were carried away over
the distant hills until you could barely
feel them. As they were fading, their heavy
storm clouds were changing to the softest meringue.
On hearing her whispers, the wildest white
horses would quieten and become gentle
in her wake, the rough seas would calm, giant
waves become fluffy, till all that was dark
would start shining and sliding out of the shadows;
riding, gliding, deftly drawing into
the glimmering light and dancing slowly,
softly, into peace and enlightenment.
Poem written for creative writing group Magpie Tales in response to the photo prompt.