30th December from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The rain rattles around the windows, smacking and dribbling down the glass. The sky has a muddy, unrelenting aspect to it. The branches are still for a moment and then arch and twist. Everything is in motion from the smallest, whippiest twigs to the big, groaning trunks. This is the day of trees and sky and rain and wind. Later, the sun struggles through, sickly, insipidly. There will be no warmth today. The waves, in hungry, unrelenting sheet after sheet of grey. Their musics are not dramatic and uplifting, not Fingal’s Caves or Sea Interludes, but something crawling and malign, there to show the dry world what will happen to it very soon.
From 30th December 2021
The wind howls through the pinetops. The waves hiss and roar. A large party of gulls is carried high on the updraught from the cliff face. The circle soundlessly with wings held in the stiff W shape we all know from children's picture books. Every so often, without appearing to move a feather, one will peel away from the group and bank down on the wind before spiralling on up again to ride the wind in absolute stillness.. For once they are silent as they circle and glide. They are not hunting or looking for food; they are doing this, dare I say, for the sheer pleasure of it. #bournemouth #WestCliff #december #winter
From 31st December 2020
Framed between the grey of the ilex tree and the dull brick of Grand marine Court, the dawn sky is a surprising palette of pastel shades. Pale blue, gold, lemon, pink and a hint of mauve and violet. Streaks of bright, silver cloud form strata of more colour. But the effect is not gaudy but cheerful and lucid. I am reminded, oddly, of a painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds. The Age of Innocence of the Ladies Waldegrave, perhaps. The sun is, as yet, hidden by the bulk of the building opposite but it is already washing out the colours with is brilliance.
