August 3rd

A fine, misty drizzle fills the dawn air. It is not rain, as such, but it gathers on the leaves of the trees enough to patter down in big drops when walking under the pines and holm oaks. Pigeons and crows scout for places where they might be able to drink. This is of more use to plants than a heavy down pour which would just run off the hard baked ground and disappear down the chines to the sea. But it will take several days for this moisture to soak down to the roots of the plants a rescue much of the wild life for which this may already be too late. The bay is closed off by the mist and the waves are driven onshore by a fresh breeze. A trail of footprints across the sand show where someone has ventured into the water for an early morning dip. Two runners reach the top of the zig-zag. Their T-shirts are soaked through but whether from the drizzle or their sweat it is hard to tell. Dog walkers and and saunterers step cheerfully: “Just what we need,” they say. The voices of the gulls from far away inland. Pigeons coo. #Bournemouth #WestCliffGreen #August #Summer.

From August 3rd 2013

An afternoon of visual delight in Bournemouth. Walking back over the west Cliff with the whole of Poole bay below from Old Harry to Hengistbury Head. The hills of Purbeck stretching out a protective arm to the west against the warm breeze. The white and grey clouds sending pools of violet shadow skittering across the wrinkled silver green sea. And the whole ringed with the seemingly unbroken pale strip of sand from Studland to Southbourne with its cavalier fringe of restless white surf.

From August 3rd 2011

The pine tree is leaning as in a Chinese painting, silhouetted against a sea that is dancing with little flashes of light. The late morning sun beams down lazily. And now off to the beach. The sea is blue. The sand is hot and golden. Good Lord is there nothing better I could be doing?