CREATIVE Cynan JonesNWR Issue 100
You hear, on the slight breeze, the tunt tunt tunt, tunt tunt
before you see the boat. A low craft, inflatable, orange, a few yards out from shore. You feel illicit.
When the boat comes alongside they cut the engine. Shout.
Waves break, the breeze. You don’t hear. Swash filters in the pools.
A man in the prow carries a boat hook as if it’s an harpoon. They are in drysuits, white helmets, bright life jackets.
One of the crew seats himself on the gunwale and pushes himself into the water. He swims strangely, held up by the lifejacket, lifted and pushed by the water. Like a spaceman.
When he comes from the water he stumbles and trips on the stones, clearing his nose of seawater...
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