6th November from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
The day is as damp as a small girl’s eyelashes when the firework party has been cancelled . The wind is brisk and reassuring as a Mother wiping her tears and promising a trip to MacDonalds. Here on the West Cliff, despite the wind and rain, someone has manged to set off a few Roman Candles in defiance of the weather. Briefly, the sun makes an appearance from behind the heavy, slate coloured clouds. The goats, unconcerned contort their necks up at unfeasible angles to capture the young shoots of gorse. But suddenly the wind flings hands full of sharp rain in from the bay. Walkers hurry their pace and umbrellas bloom like summer flowers. But a stream of visitors in sharp camel coats are determined to get their money’s worth of the sea side and, shoulders hunched, they are going to finish their post brunch exercise.
From 6th November 2021
This morning it was bitterly cold, glove weather, but it is a degree or two warmer now. A small wind has sprung up, the sea is thrashing about. The sky is like a vast dark tent suspended from the firmament so that we can see out to a strip of orange sky all the way round the horizon. And then the rain begins to patter down. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Autumn #november
From 6th November 2019
The air before dawn is crisp and chill. The grass is heavy with dew. To the west a single star adorns the still inky darkness. The lights of the Barfleur making its way into port and a cargo ship riding at anchor shine out brilliantly making golden trails on the velvet dark water. Yet to the East the dawn fills the air with the softest pale blue edged with a hint of gold. The water of the bay is mirror smooth reflecting the delicate light. It is disturbed only by the merest ripple of a wave and a tracery of silver pathways. The wave sighs at the water’s edge. A robin sings from a clifftop gorse bush.
From 6th November 2015
It's still late autumn rather than early winter. The sweet chestnut leaves on the path are a deep litter of gold and orange but on the trees many are still green. From the clifftop I can see the sea boiling and clawing its way up the beach. The wind blows sudden squalls of cold rain in my face. Only one swimmer braving the surf today and further out in the bay a little coaster butts through the whitecaps. Amidst the wet brown bracken, little clumps of teasles sway brightly. This is the place to be and this is the time to be here.
From 6th November 2014
The wind is buffeting the windows. The swollen tide roars and pounds at the beach. Six days ago I was swimming.
From 6th November 2011
t's too early even for dog walkers and joggers. Council workers are the only ones setting out on their rounds, headlights from their trucks making bright pools in the darkness along the promenade. The sea provides a gently reassurance. It is a time for contmplation rather than observation. How long bfore the grand cliff top hotels have crumbled away? A thousand years? The city itself with its pretty gardens?Ten thousand? In a hundred thousand temporary effects like global warming will have come and gone and we will be cycling back through ice ages. In a million, another species will have taken mankind's place. And all that will be constant. The sea, the wind, and the desire for growing things to grow.
