22nd January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Early morning walkers cross the sun’s path, moving in and out of the mist ghost-like, almost transparent. The sun is new and polished golden and the sea is peaceul. The frost is still thick but it feels warmer. There is poragey grey cloud to the West over the Purbeck Hills which probably means a rise in temperature. The pines stretch and claw against the blue sky. A crow claims dominion over all it beholds with a regal bark.
From 22nd January 2022
Sometimes I think there will be nothing to write about tonight. The sky is closed in with clouds. No moon or stars. Not freezing cold. No wind to speak of. The sea is behaving itself. And yet, the West Cliff is oddly beautiful in the dark. Distant lights across the bay. Empty pools of light on the paths. And a strange camaraderie of the people who come and go. The wanderers and wayfarers making their way back to the vans where they sleep. The dog walkers. Those who don't want to return to their empty bed sitting rooms just yet. They all say "Good night." or make eye contact. It is a strange meeting place. But for many it is home. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #January #Winter
From 22nd January 2021
The cold breath of the breeze strokes my cheek. The low waves soothe the beach and frost sugar coats the grass. Two fat pigeons shuffle uncertainly on the railing but I have no plans to tease them today. It is a dawn filled with sound. Two girls twist and dance in the icy surf. Their distant shouts, half of shock, half of glee pierce the air. A blackbird chacks its displeasure at my passing. A faint mixture of traffic and birdsong. The dark leviathans of the cliff-top hotels slumber on, waiting for the call when the pandemic has passed.
