13th November from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The stars and planets sparkled from a clear, cloudless sky last night and yet, in the morning, everything was wringing wet. Grey webs of drops of moisture lined the grass stems that sparkled and shone in the morning sun like tiny zircon necklaces and tiaras. The paths glittered like tiny rainbows from the wet stones. And yet this was not a frost but a very heavy dew. Despite the little breath of wind this was a very heavy carpet of moisture. And as the day wore on the temperature rose to that of a summer evening. The choppy waves encouraged the body boarders into the surf. A squirrel sat up with an acorn in his hands and nibbled up and down as if playing a tiny harmonica. But then, as the shadows lengthened the temperature dropped quickly because it is November after all.
From 13th November 2016
There are no hares on the West Cliff but tonight is the hare hunters' moon when the silver light, bright as day would be ideal for pursuing that quarry across the autumn stubble and ploughland. Man's relationship with the hare goes back thousands of years which is why it is treated with respect as a magic animal. The only hunters out tonight are the owls looking for love and that young scavenging fox learning the tricks of the trade. You can follow his progress by the sudden angry clamour of roosting birds and the barking of the dogs as he passes.
From 13th November 2014
The sea is in utter turmoil. Waves undecided whether to break on the beach or just give up and explode into plumes of foam out in the bay. The noise of the confusion is that of a huge machine deafening and unrelenting. The walls of the hut shake. The England under 20 football team saunter by hoods raised. Some of them look at us as though they are glad they only have play football in this.
