A beautiful January day, we are in shutdown so there are no visitors on the island just staff.

It was eerily windless as I walked across South West field, maybe the calm before storm Eowyn. batters down on the island from the Atlantic. I notice a small herd of Sika deer staring at me. I continue walking towards my intended destination, the Old Light.

The stillness of this January afternoon actually made me back track to the burial ground. I have stood there so many times in a westerly wind, it just felt that this was a weather opportunity.

Once through the gate of the walled cemetery I was able to find a Place for my typewriter to rest. I was unsure if the outdoor desk was appropriate. However, it gave me more of a connection to the holy ground.

A connection with the people whose Memories of Lundy was celebrated with memorial stones and graves.

I walked around the ground, absorbing the landscape then turning to the typewriter I hit the keys to form short verse or haikus.

The sound of the keys as they hit the paper sounded solid and loud in the quietness.of the mid afternoon.

The quirks of the old typewriter representing shapes of the keys on the paper.

This moment in time gave me chance to not just look and see but to find words to represent what I saw.