Snell Publishers

Independent e-publishers of fantasy, self-help and travel poetry

St Michaels Mount

Visiting St Michaels Mount is always a watery business, given that it is an island only reachable on foot at low tide, but today to add to that it was raining, heavily at that and it was February and so the water poured from the heavens onto the earth and onto the sea and the sea foamed and heaved, as it was high tide and there was a wind up.

I had taken the number 2 bus, what its’ destination was I don’t recall but it did go past Marazion which was where I wanted to be. Despite the mist from the rainfall it was still beautiful. Looking out at the island I noticed that a red boat, small in the distance was leaving the harbour on the island and was steaming straight for where I was standing mesmerized by the beauty and presence of the enigma that was the island. The boat grew bigger as it drew closer and as I was standing on a sandy beach with large rocks and a spine of rocks like teeth emerging from the water, I began to be concerned where this boat going to dock? Were the passengers going to have to leg it over the side and get wet up to their knees if not their thighs in the waves that were breaking on the beach. There was nowhere to dock, no jetty, no dock, nothing but a wide expanse of sand and jagged rocks.

The boat did not slow down, but ploughed on straight towards the shore and suddenly I saw in the swell that the boat had wheels. They were enormous and were finding their teeth in the
surf and gripping onto the sand of the beach and then suddenly like a large red monster, it was rearing out of the waves and making straight for me. I stepped aside and the boat/ferry/truck rode right past me to the rock promenade and braking, a ramp was lowered from the back of the truck, and not only did the passengers (4) not get wet they didn’t even get sand on their shoes. They disembarked and another five boarded and without waiting the truck made for the the edge of the sea, and ploughed straight into the waves and just as the waves were crashing over the wheels which were the height of a man, the truck began to wobble and transformed itself into a boat again, a red ferry that took visitors to the island, which however was closed to visitors, both the castle and the gardens.

This place has always grabbed my heart and I stood entranced by its singular beauty and gentleness. I have always loved this. I used to cut pictures out of travel brochures when I was a child of St Micheal’s Mount and its sister Mont St Michel off the coast of France. And even then I wondered why, why should there by two of these, why were they made similar? What are these and why are they enigmatic, gentle and inspiring, healing and refreshing and like a meditation in place, all at once?


I can’t paint the colours of
The sea and the sky in the morning
I can only talk about them
In their glory.
Their creaminess, their inherent
Gentleness, their paleness
Their deftness as they lean
Into human consciousness
I can’t paint the colours
Of the sea
But I can love its effect
Of calming with pink,

The soporific noise of A blue so soft it is Grey, hinting at becoming Silver, but not, because the sun Has hidden and lights the day With an indirect light, a Light to give an orange that Sparks between the blue and pink; Lights to give preference.