13th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

The air is as sharp as a sushi chef’s knife. The sea wrinkles and shivers at the cold. The sky is clear with puffs of white and grey cloud at the edge. The sun stabs like a searchlight through the trees. The benches are full but everyone is wearing coats. Little grey green blades of daffodill leaves in sheltered spots and there are daisies everywhere although there are not quite enough yet (7 or 9 according to your belief system) to cover with one foot. Crows bleat from the trees.

From the 13th January 2022

Earlier today: The sea is as flat calm as it is ever likely to be. Small wavelets stir at the tides edge. Mist rises off the water. The sun glares down from a dead blue sky and mirrors off the bay with a polished, brassy sheen. Small boats, almost invisible against the light, move in and out of vision as if in some half forgotten fairy tale. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #winter #january

From 13th January 2015

I've remarked before how different the sound of the sea is every day. Today, despite the still of the dawn air and the sullen grey clouds moving aside to reveal a sheer pale sky, the waves are hurling themselves at the beach. Because the sands are long and shallow, one line of surf follows in before the first has broken making a continual hissing roar underpinned with a hollow boom that reminds me of somewhere far and exotic.