3rd October from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The dawn air is cold and clear. The grass is heavy with dew. Pigeons and gulls wander around wondering what the day will bring. To the east, the sun is breaking through the streaks and gobs of purple cloud but the bay is polished grey blue. Fishing boats dot the mirror smooth waters and one or two dark distant figures are paddle boarders enjoying the dawn. There is a breath of chilly breeze. The areas where the grass has not recolonised yet are a mass of tiny dark wormcasts.
From 3rd October 2021
In a matter of minutes the puffy fair weather clouds in the blue sky to the West were replaced by a rolling mass of weather. A sharp wind sprang up and the rain swept in. Gulls and pigeons huddled on the warm roof of a sea front restaurant. The crows seem to be masters of this weather and seem not to mind being buffeted about. A pigeon which met its doom on the path has been picked clean to the bones by magpies this morning.
From 3rd October 2019
The rain sweeps across the street lamp beam in big horizontal curtains. The sea is breaking far out and marching to the beach in long, raking waves. The continuous sibilant roar combines with the sound of the bobbing, thrashing trees to make a din that is on the threshold of needing ear defenders. Leaves of laurel and rhododendron are polished silver by the rain and dance and sparkle in the street lights. Pine needles are thick underfoot making a carpet as soft and springy as an expensive Axminster. A youngish guy, bareheaded and jacket open, is standing watching the weaving shadows of the branches in the gale. He has a beer bottle in each hand. “Not the night to be out.” I say from the depths of my waterproofs. “Oh it is. It is.” He says laughing. I am delighted someone is enjoying the night as much as I am.
From 3rd October 2016
Tonight, my walk on the West Cliff seems to invoke a strange feeling of restlessness and irresolution. The sea is fretting at the shore, turning over the lines of surf as if anxiously considering some problem set much farther out to sea. The chill, blustery wind makes stopping to survey the scene uncomfortable and out across the bay, the glittering lights of the Barfleur and other, smaller, vessels, seem to move hesitantly towards the shore. Above, the stars and galaxies glitter in cold splendour against a darkness that extends on up for ever.
