22nd December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A grey, damp, quiet day. Where the moisture sucks all the sound out of the air. It’s not exactly cold but little cold finger tips make their way up and down exposed skin. Everything is wringing wet. Moisture makes its way down the fissures in the tree bark and weighs down the grass. Walkers wonder what they’re going to do with their extra two minutes today,
From 22nd December 2020
At first, all I can see in the indigo darkness are details. An orange street light reflecting off the deeply fissured bark of a pine tree, still shiny wet from the rain storm. A cigarette packet at the side of the path. But gradually I am aware of that miraculous and surprisingly rapid transition from night into day. I pause to contemplate the greying sky where it meets the horizon and the rows of lights from our cruise liners (now down to two. They are beginning to spread out across the world again and the Allure of the Seas is already on her way to the Caribbean) I watch the surf turning over lazily, lacily as it emerges towards daylight. I am conscious of someone leaning on the rail about twenty metres away. A brief unspoken moment of sharing something grand. I say Good Morning and wander on.
