The holts are nearly always close to the sea
In fallen boulders, old ruins, in cliffs
Or at the top of a stack, like this

High above the sea
A safe place for cubs
I wait, tense
Then disappointed

She leaves her spraint to notify others of her visit
The holts are evenly spaced, about five hundred yards apart
Now for the use of any otter who passes by, with or without cubs

I love you