10th November from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The difficulty in November is finding enough words to describe grey. Where the wind has dried the path, the grey asphalt is made up of a myriad of purple, green and white chips. The soft pigeon grey of the clouds. The greeny-grey of the sea which becomes a sort of yellowy grey as it nears the shore. The charcoal and slate grey of the distant hills and the fine hazy grey of the mist the cloaks the day. A balck and white magpie has some purpose as it fossicks in the long grass and silver grey leaf litter of the holm oak. Then there is an edge of pinky grey as dusk approaches and the very light becomes browny grey. The polished pewter plate of the Hare Hunters’ Moon peers out from the monochrome clouds as evening closes in.
From 10th November 2021
We have not seen the moon for some time now but tonight, there she is, basking in a field of pale clouds, a waxing crescent growing towards the Hare Hunters full moon at the end of the month. She projects a pencil straight golden stripe across the oily water of the bay directly towards me. The cargo vessel Deo Volente, deck lights blazing, drops the pilot at the end of the Swash Channel and makes her way out into the Channel. On the cliff top, voices carry on the still night air. It is warm enough for folk to be sitting out on the steps nodding to passers by. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Autumn #November
From 10th November2018
Having been goaded into a rage by the storms, the sea is not yet settled. It sounds moody and irritable muttering and jittering along the shore. The night air smells damp and green. The grass glistens in the gleam of the streetlights which themselves seem to stand naked and shivering. Cold gusts of clifftop breeze rattle in occasional showers of penny-sized cold rain drops from the bay. The paths and alleyways are deserted save for a woman staring out into the night. Her dog waits placidly at her side. I pull up my hood and hurry back indoors.
From 10th November 2016
A rasping breeze and a busy sea. The hard moon throws deep shadows among the pines but silhouettes the distant hills against a star-powdered sky. The hotels and apartment blocks blaze out bravely against the night.
From 10th November 2011
Dark smudges of cloud against an imperceptibly lightening sky. Jagged slashes of magenta where the sun is rising out of sight. The day progresses from pitch black to light in ten minutes. The music of the sea is different every day. Sometimes brisk and staccato like a Vivaldi concerto, sometimes, grand and stately like a piece of Elgar or a thundering endless roar in the style of Wagner. Today is a continuous series of chords adding in swell one to another as the long waves break along the beach. Today it is Bach.
