27th February from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A sharp, white frost and a sharper wind from the North East. It is very cold but the sky is perfectly clear and palest of blues except for a fringe of purple cloud on the horizon. At the appointed hour the sun bursts up and onto its day’s splendid course. The orange light is sudden and strong casting long shadows along the path and through the branches of the trees, The sea shivers and trembles and sprawls on the sand in sharp glassy-green waves. A party of pigeons, unaware that they are crowned with gold in the dawn light, move together along the frosted grass looking for breakfast.
From 27th February 2022
The din from the boiling surf is enormous and continuous. It is like a mighty eight mile long factory whose one product is making noise from pure energy. Which is exactly what it is. The wind is extremely cold and penetrating but for all that, the sun is shining strongly in an untroubled blue sky. The main news today concerns our small herd of fluffy coated goats that are here to keep the vegetation on the cliffs down and reduce the chance of landslips. Welcome to George, Gordon, Henry, Hercules, Horatio, Hulk & Hakim.At the moment they are not quite in the enclosure on the Green but they are nearby opposite the Marriott Hotel. They look slightly bewildered by their new surroundings but they are already proving a hit with camera wielding visitors and they appear quite sanguine about things in general. #bournemouth #westcliffgreen #February #springisonitsway
From 27th February 2021
Jenny Wren sings out from her hiding place in the ilex tree. Her voice is as clear and bold and bright as the day. The sky is intensely blue and reflects of the gently rippling water of the bay. Little boats dash hither and thither leaving silver zig zag wakes. The air is still fresh and crisp but the sun beams up off the water with a glare of heat. Daisies pepper the grass and a single gull hangs on an updraft. Unmoving, surveying the world below.
Later
The sky to the west fades to dusty rose, and washes of apricot and purple. Blackbirds and thrushes skirl in the gathering darkness. The sea grumbles to itself. And then the great orange face of the moon peers quizzically through the angular black branches of the pines. "I can see you." She says. "What are you doing out so late? This is my time now. You should be in having your tea." And so I am.
From 27th February 2018
The Beast from the East is prowling the street. Howling in the trees. Rolling on the grass.
