23rd November from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The clifftop seats always look wistful in the treacly orange early light as though, waking from a long sleep, they need somebody to sit on them to give them reason to exist. A magpie struts and frets upon his little hill with no such doubts. Thus, as the Green begins to fill with dog walkers and saunterers, the whole place begins to seem more than a photograph frozen in time. The wind is fresh and strengthens throughout the morning. The sea grumbles. The sun is warm from a clear sky but a mist obscures the hills. And the oak tree, now divested of leaves, has taken on another green canopy - a ragged tent or awning of some sort. It does not look convincing.
From 23rd November 2021
A steel bright worried-looking sea fading to charcoal towards the horizon. A straight band of mauve clouds then a succession of colours - orange, deep yellow, primrose and pale green before into the palest of blues to a violet at the zenith. The whole arrangement framed by the low black bushes and impentetrable green of the ilex to one side and the deep, not yet red vertical line of the brick wall to the other. A single thin brush stroke of purple cloud makes it a perfect sunrise. #Bournemouth #November #WestCliff #autumn
From 23rd November 2019
My feeling in the morning is dictated by which shoes I put on. If I am serious and want to feel grounded, it is my boots. If lighter and springier and devil may care, it’s the trainers. Or perhaps the footware depends on whether it’s raining or not. Today is definitely a trainery day. The air is fresh and cold but not frosty. The sea is smooth and cheerful and even the shadows among the pines conceal delights of banks of crunchy golden leaves rather than anything more sinister. But the dawn is glorious; the sun, still hidden by banks of purple storybook clouds, is bustling up into a pale gold sky.
