Why here?

Jim McDonnell’s Huts | Photograph: Rhonda Quilford (1975)

Lee side of the dunes
where Jim McDonnell’s hut once stood
mid-afternoon the big blue looms overhead and behind.

No phones, no power, no TV
just the rolling swell wearing the rocks below
and a salt laden southwester.

The scrub has regrown
erasing evidence of this imposition
on ancient land.

You’d never guess someone lived here
unless you knew better.
I know better.

I still see traces of Jim
smashed glass in the sand,
gravestones and weathered wooden boards.

I don’t know better,
how to be here.

I try to be here,
better, more respectfully,
than how I am.
What I can see,
hear, and feel
is why you’d choose to live here.