2nd November from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
Every day as we get further into Autumn and the days get a little shorter, the sun gets lower in the sky, the clouds get a little greyer, the wind gets a little snappier, the waves hurl white foam further up the beach and the rain gets a little sharper, we spend less time on the Green. But this autumn there is something special to see. Every five to ten years there is a sudden bonanza of acorns from the oak trees. This outpouring is called a Mast and this year is one. Aided by the wind and the rain, the areas under the holm oaks are deep in acorns. They have been washed into piles and drifts by the rain. They are so copious that the squirrels can’t cope with this sudden wealth and they are beginning to dissolve away un eaten or uncollected. And there are still masses on the trees yet to fall.. There are many theories of why this happens but there does seem to be a natural cycle of a few years of famine and then one of plenty. It may be that this year happened to coincide with the drought over the summer and the trees put everything into preserving the species for the future in their little time capsules.
And the breeze becomes a strong wind, becomes a gale, becomes a howling hooley hurling pigeons around the sky as if fired from artillery pieces.
From 2nd November 2021
The sun was as warm as mid july. The blue sky was decorated with a few pale brush strokes of cloud and a fringe of puffy cumuls across the horizon. The waves were big but orderly, waiting politely for the preceding one to finish lathering itself on the sand before advancing. The water was tingly cold #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Autumn #November
From 2nd November 2016
The air is as sharp as a butcher's cleaver. For the first time in months the clifftop benches are empty. Usually there is at least one young couple with arms wound inexpertly round each other, too embarrassed to look each other in the eye, afraid the other will know what they are thinking. Or an elderly pair with fingers arthritically intertwined staring at the horizon and thinking, perhaps, of that long ago honeymoon when they saw The Tremeloes at The Wintergarden. Towards the end there is a bench occupied by a single man twisted in on himself smoking something sweet and further up a group of lads with nowhere else to go. "All right?" "All right, Mate." And it is.
From 2nd November 2013
A sudden squall of rain gusts in from the cliff edge like a sodden grey blanket on a washing line. The bent pine tree bows and sways as if it is trying to shake off the dirty weather. Walkers rush for cover and umbrellas turn inside out.
Later
Suddenly the sun bursts out from the grey clouds and floods the West Cliff with warm apricot light. The grass dazzles from the raindrops. Beautiful April weather. What's that? Oh...
From 2nd November 2011
The playful wind makes the dawn walker step out more briskly. Bushes, pines and palms are shaken like a terrier's stick. The green grey waves jump up and curl over. But the sky has broken cloud with the gold and pink of a good day coming. Back indoors the blinds rattle, joining in the fun.
