7 th September from the Westcliff Green, Bournemouth

Sunshine and showers. But the showers are sudden, intense and almost spiteful. Caught in one there is nowhere to hide. Within minutes the horizon is blotted out and the rain streams down in a monsoon-like deluge. The drops hit the path and fountain up in white splashes well above shoe height. The leaves on the trees hiss and dance sending the water down onto the unwary passer-by looking for shelter. There is no shelter. Clothes and shoes are soaked through. The rain cascades in torrents along the path and puddles spread from nowhere across the path. And then when the storm is at its heaight, it gets worse, throwing Olympic Size swimming pools down with extraordinay violence. And then, as if by command of the weather Gods, it ceases. The wet world pauses and the sun emerges. And within another few minutes, the puddles recede and the path begins to dry out. Time to squelch home.

Sheltering under Holm Oaks.

From 7th Spetember 2021

The sun rises straight up into a cloudless dawn sky. It's light is diffused by the mist but still makes delicious shadows between the trees. The sea is calm but ruffled by a slight fresh breeze. Voices carry across the water from a group of early morning paddleboarders far out in the bay and a pair of swimmers closer in shore. The sand is pockmarked with the activity from yesterday. In the chiaroscuro it looks like some anciant battlefield. There is a distant sound - a mournful sigh redolent with the sadness of loss and disappointment - that I can't identify. As I walk further I realise it is the sound of the brakes on the refuse lorry as it goes slowly up and down the road.