21st October from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
After the cataracts are the hurricanoes. Big bear like winds rampaging through the trees. Branches creak and grate so that the walker needs to hurry their steps lest something might come crashing down. The paths are deep in the prickly cases of the sweet chestnuts, their shiny mahogany contents strewn across the whole area. A white drift is the bell flowers of the strawberry tree. The sea is ugly and bad tempered, crashing high up on the beach and leving a scummy line of sea weed and yellow froth at the tide’s edge. There are still walkers on the sand, struggling, head down against ther blast. Crows, pigeons and gulls all delight in the updraught, angling their wings and letting themselves be tossed around, not making any other effort but to play with their element. A kestrel uses the wind to hover and drift. In its claw is the remains of some small creature that it snacks on as it is carried along on the draught. later it cruises back having finished lunch.
From 21st October 2021
The long lazy waves are transparent green before they slap down in a mass of white foam. The sea is indigo blue. Flocks of gulls wheel almost soundlessly in the gentle breeze. The evergreens are needle sharp against the sheer blue sky. The straw coloured afternoon sun casts long shadows of the ilex trees over the startling green grass. The air as cold and crisp. Three young people huddle together on a bench sharing a long roll up. They wave at me. They are content. A magpie has found a piece of bread and struts around with it displaying it proudly. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #autumn #October
From 21st October 2020
Earlier the rain rattled against my windows and the windscreen wipers of the cars turning round in the road below were hurrying back and forth flick flack flick flack. But when I step out into the dull, dead, late afternoon, the rain has turned to a damp drizzle. It is not cold but there is a sharp breeze. The sea is sullen and grey and grumbles at the beach. A group of orange clad workmen are finishing up from where they have been making safe the trees which have tipple toppled in the late storms. There is a smell of damp leaves and the the clifftop is red with bracken interspersed with brakes of teasels and the brown spears of evening primrose but there is a bright green understorey of plants readying themselves for the spring. Looking back, I am struck by the fact that there is little signs of autumn among the trees. We are surrounded by evergreens, pines and holm oaks. But there is one wind twisted oak that shows a splash of yellow against the dark green. The greensward is covered with worm casts – hated by lawn keepers but beloved by Charles Darwin. The local dealer has hauled his bike into the toilets to keep himself out of the weather. We are all one under the sky.
