28th January from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Cold, wet and miserable with a heavy mist. Everything is wringing with moisture. Four coasters and bunker vessels anchored out in the bay; presumably waiting for the tide or for a berth. The Ro-Ro freighter Pelican noses through the little fleet on its way back from Bilbao. However drab the day feels, there are always surprising little views framed by trees or bushes that you may never have spotted before. These are delightful windows into another reality. The view through the gorse that reveals the little ships in the bay or the path dropping away out of sight that might give rise to some stranger narrative. Pigeons coo and Magpies whirr.
From 28th January 2022
The air is crisp and fesh. A gentle breeze eases in from the South west across the bay making the otherwise tranquil water glitter and sparkle. The sky is all but blue with a veil of muslin thrown across it. White mist drapes across the horizon. In the open it is warm in the gauzy sunshine. A crow demands attention from the branches of a Scots Pine and further along a goldfinch practises a few notes of its spring song. Pigeons sip at the the diamond drops of dew on the grass. A robin gives it some heart from a post on the end of the iron railings. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Winter #January.
From 28th January 2019
The Earth born hunter strides out across the waters of the bay and climbs to his place against the shivering crystals of the stars. The little dog Procyon snaps at his heels. I say little dog because, although he is meant to be Orion’s hunting companion I always imagine Canis as a twisting, leaping little terrier. “Yap yap yap” says the little dog to the mighty giant towering way above him. Orion bends and puts a gentle hand on the little dog’s nose. “Sh. Sh. Little Dog Procyon, “ he says. “You startled Lepus the Hare and we’ll never catch him now. We shall hunt Taurus the Bull instead.” But the Little Dog Procyon keeps up his yapping. “What is that? Little fellow, what are you trying to tell me? The Scorpion? Run. Run for your life.” Orion arches his bow up against the stars but there he stays frozen in the winter night with the little dog faithful to the last at his heels.
From 28th January 2016
Above the boom of the surf and the roar of the wind in the pines the barking of a pair of foxes. Companionship? Lust? Or downright antipathy? Who can divine relationships? Meanwhile the tawny owl continues her mournful calling for a mate.
From 28th January 2011
all writers should travel by bus. the dialogue is extraordinary. the British people are all poets
