10th March from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The roar and crash of the sea is enormous. The bay itself looks deceptively calm but there is a big, long swell running and as it reaches the shore it rears up like a frightened stallion and stamps down hard on the flat sand with a cascade of white foam covering the beach. People stand and watch the spectacle daring the white mass of water to wet their shoes before they run away. The wind has veered towards the North and is chilly. The sun continues its troubled attempts to lighten the day. The daffodills have overcome the earlier harvest and a big clump of foxglove leaves are driving upwards towards the spring.
From 10th March 2022
A drizzly, misty late afternoon. The breeze is gentle on my cheek. The waves sigh steadily. From the little gorse filled gully a blackbird starts to sing. It's song is almost translucent in its clarity. It is answered by another blackbird in an ilex tree nearby and then a thrush, a robin until the evening chorus is in full swing. Even a crow tries a hoarse harmony and the gulls provide a distant continuo. I shake hands with the goat keeper and we talk for a long while over the fence with George in attendance before we are joined by Gordon whom he nicknames Flash. A perfect, soft spring evening. #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #spring #march #bournemoutheastcliffgoats
From 10th March 2021
It's not what I would call a steady rain; more a cold drizzle driven into icy squalls by a buffeting wind from across the bay. The sea is grey green and jagged with white capped waves something like a badly iced Christmas cake. The surf adds to the image with its wide white lacy frill along the whole length of the beach. The sea is tormented into a drawn out, continuous hissing sound which combines with the roaring of the pine tops makes an almost industrial soundscape. It reminds me of the din from a steel works I used to walk through. Twigs and small branches cover the path. The spring flowers have hunkered down till the sun shines again. Pigeons keep to the margins of the green where there is shelter in the lee of the gorse. The crows strut about disappointed they have nothing to boss.
