14th November from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The air is fresh but it is still not cold. Another dew laden dawn. The sky to the east is gold slatted as the straight edges of the purple clouds are polished in anticipation of the sun. A cloud of thirty or so herring gulls mew to each other as they circle overhead before settling on the cliff top. One or two black headed gulls add their harsh calls to the dawn air. A squad of six magpies patrol the grass looking behind every tussock and divot for the gold they are meant to bring. A crow calls out his ownership of the Green from the top of a lamp post. And then the broad polished disc of the sun slides up over the horizon. Perhaps this is the gold the magpies were hunting for. A little wind springs up.
From 14th November 2019
Yesterday, the optician assured me it was still OK for me to drive at night. Tonight, standing on the cliff edge I decided to see just how far my night vision extended. I could see clearly to the bottom of the cliffs. Some old admiralty charts I have mark these as being 90 feet in places, say thirty metres. That means that the curling, booming surf must be about fifty metres. I could see that fine. If I follow the wave edge along I can see the strobe of the Sandbanks Ferry winking sharply. Say, eight kilometres and the pin pricks of light from Studland and the red and green lights in the bay, 12 kilometers. To the East I can see the red glow of the Needles Light (15 Kilometers) and the red warning lights on the TV transmitting towers of Chillerton Down and Rowridge (25 Kilometers) Low down on the horizon but brighter that anything is the brilliant flashing light of St Catherine’s Light (42 Kilometers) and further on those ghostly smudges must be the tops of clouds centred on Mid Channel or even as far as Cherbourg (120 Kilometers). Above my head is the lights of a nine hour flight from Miami (12 kilometers). And beyond that, the sharp silver disc of the Hare Hunters’ Moon (385,000 Kilometers) And the planets (Between 600 million and 1000 million Kilometers) And before the cloud sweeps them away I can just make out Betelgeuse (642.5 Light years) and Rigel (864.3 Light Years) I think that’s good enough to allow me to drive at night.
From 14th November 2016
"Is this Bournemouth?" He said over his shoulder. "Yes, it's Bournemouth." I replied. "Oh goodness, I thought you were my friend following me. We've just driven down from Birmingham." "That's all right," I said. "It's still Bournemouth. It's as far as you can go without getting your feet wet." And he leant on the rail and watched the surf on th beach below. And I thought how lucky they were to come all this way to hear the sea at its best. A rhythmic, soothing wash backwards and forwards. Restful, almost hypnotic. Lovely.
From 14th November 2012
At this damp, grey time of year when autumn aspires to become winter; at this time of day, still dark enough to see the Needles Light but light enough to make out the razor sharp horizon, you are made aware of the liminal nature of this time and this place. The edges of the path grow before your feet, the worn yellow painted edge of the steps and the cliffs themselves transitioning abruptly into the wet air. The sea seems unsure of its limits and grumbles and frets dyspeptically at the shore. And then a sight that causes a literal gasp. A pinprick of intense red light suddenly swells up over the horizon and is sucked up behind the louring cloud. The sun has come and gone for the day.
From 14th November 2011
The gibbous hare-hunter moon is a brilliant silver in the palest of skies. A bank of mist smudges the horizon. I catch low voices and the scent of rollies at a hundred yards on the cheek chill sharp air. It is a dawn of distance; memories of pigeon shooting with my Dad; or watching for Brent geese on the Farlington marshes; walking home through the dawn after an all night fit-up. The sun bursts through the mist a glorious red and a yard across. Towards the west the moon is now bone white.
