25th August from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
After a steady deluge overnight everything smells fresh and green. Leaves that were wilting and dusty a few days ago are glossy and dripping moisture onto the path. The birds are singin again. The bushes and branches seem to be suddenly full of robins, tits, blackbirds. One bold thrush rehearses his song from a low bush. The day is warm again but a mass of cloud assembles as evening approaches. The sun drops behind the tall pines and the beach is in shadow but there is still a bright blue silk scarf of clear sky beneath the cloud so that the unseen sun’s rays light the tall buildings and white cliffs with a lemon, then warm glow. Out on the steel planished bay a pleasure boat is duddenly lit up in shocking pink. It’s low chatter reaches across the still water to where the little waves swash onto the flat sand. Overhead great purple clouds are splashed and edged with mauve and brown and orange like a great expansive impressionist painting. Two young guys stand and marvel at the sight. Their dog seems entranced just as much as they are. Otherwise the evening is hushed. People sit on the benches and read. Late picnickers begin to pack up. In one or two spots the scent of a joint or two hangs heavy on the air. A pigeon suddenly claps its wings and begins its roller coaster flight home.
From 25th August 2021
The first really pleasant day of the summer. Warm but not overpowering or humid and without the wind which has been a constant up to now. The waves are big and bold and green and swimmers can do little more than bob in the surf and squeal with delight as they are tumbled over by the force of the water. Little boats lined with fisheren chug out in the bay. Gulls wheel and the heather is a rich purple in the chines.
From 25th August 2020
Some years the summer slips so gently into Autumn that you don’t notice the transition until you wake up one morning to find a heavy grey mast hanging over dew sparkled grass and you realise you’re half way to winter already. This year there’s been much more of a rough and tumble. Only a few days ago we were baking in record high temperatures. Then sudden colossal downpours and high winds make it difficult to tell whether this is early autumn gales or late summer squalls. Even today, the buffeting winds were accompanied, from time to time, by warm sun and blue skies before the scudding grey clouds sent another storm thrashing down. There are still a few late summer flowers but the clifftop is mostly populated by the stiff stalks of yarrow and wild carrot interspersed with the rich chocolate seed spikes of docks. Tall thistles are white and fluffy and those strange brown spears are the remains of evening primrose and teasels. Most of the blackberries, though, have yet to ripen although there are plenty of black fruit if you look hard. On the way home I pass a spaniel, transfixed by the scenes before him, his ears streaming in the wind like banners.
