The glazed foreshore and silhouetted log,
That rock where breakers shredded into rags,
The leggy birds stilted on their own legs,
Islands riding themselves out into the fog
And drive back home, still with nothing to say
Except that now you will encode landscapes
By this: things found clean on their own shapes,
Water and ground in their extremity.
From Seamus Heaney
She is an inspiration, I love a late starter.