 There's arrogance in a paddler's pull,
his kayak prow a sliver of prowess
through Scottish waves at Scourie -
a bay hewn prehistorically,
now incisor rocks
and salty-honeycombed sea cliffs. Fathoms flex beneath
as we leave the mouth
and brave the rising
breast of the ocean. We're bounced and buffeted;
our wetsuits graft a second skin;
our lifejackets shiver and tug
as spray soaks even goosebumps
and the bags under our eyes. It's morning,
but we're still cocooned,
and our dreams the night before
were drier and less salty. We scour the barrel-troughs of waves
as Scourie dips
to a rocky archipelago,
leaving a brightly-coloured chain
of voyagers, out-matched
by every element;
paddling against the tide;
afloat against the odds;
Archimedes et al
in the tub of the ocean. | 
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