21st November from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The rain is heavy and continuous, pouring down from a flat, grey sky. The wind rattles the deluging drops through the trees. The big white topped breakers march in across the bay and hurl themselves onto the sand with an excited fury. Puddles on the paths join together making lakes that overflow into rivers, racing towards the chines and down into the sea. For some reason, pigeons are standing in the puddles maybe taking the opportunity to bathe. Magpies skulk about in the leaf litter. There no human beings about except for a lone cyclist in T shirt and shorts, bowling along before the breeze and blinded by the rain. The last of the sweet chestnut leaves, long and yellow form banks and drifts .
From 21st November 2021
One of those late autumn days with the golden brown leaves piled high on the pavements where small dogs become buried and even the most straight laced cannot resist a swish swish crunch whilst (they think) noone is looking. The air is chill but the sky is blue and dotted with little fairweather clouds. The sea is barely rippled. But by mid day, slabs of grey are emerging from the West and as the sun is hidden the temperature drops. A cold wind says it won't be long till winter. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Autumn #November.
From 21st November 2012
A navy blue night of such depth and stillness; the stars burning with such a fire that it would burn into your soul if you did not turn away. The half moon as sharp as though cut from ice with a child's scissors. The sea mumbling restlesslessly sliced with an intense silver moon-path
