Autumn=jacket

This is where I was heading when the storm broke on Friday.

It's one of my favourite spots to sit and write, though I must admit that sometimes it's hard not to just sit and gaze at this instead-

The weather is changing. There's a hint of Autumn in the air. However, Autumn=jacket=more pockets. And more pockets means there's no reason not to take the camera out with me more often when I go out and about! A little resolution of mine.

Interesting, though, how it changes - moments experienced, but interpreted through a pen, a camera, or paints. Sometimes, I think it's better just to look around you and not do anything at all except be there!

Eating mints

Wasn't what I had in mind, eating mints in a crowded beach shelter while the hail storm raged. I was cornered next to a man shouting into his mobile about this weekend's footie fixtures and a street sweeper intent on keeping his cart dry even though there was no room for it. A tall guy with a huge over-loaded rucksack kept leaning on me.

A Helen Mirren look-alike was gazing out at the white of breakers, chewing her nails. Grounded waves ran along the promenade, puddles on the move, turning into and out of glassy blue as the floored sky raced past. A shallow sea, travelling. I looked down at my feet. I had my old leaky shoes on.

Bikes blurred by like cartoon speed lines. Only going from West to East. Being blown home. Trousers were stuck to their legs like plastic bags with all the seams in the wrong place. A woman strode out against the wind. She held her hands over her ears, had a huge red bag tucked under her elbow, like a danger flag.

Sand at Brighton

Instant reflexology if you walk barefoot here. Sometimes, it hits a spot you didn't know needed hitting. Usually, you just have to resort to putting your jelly shoes back on again if you want to make it down the beach without adding contribution to the Ministry of Silly Walks. 

I try to carry no gear when I'm out and about walking. A tiny notebook and pen, my keys, a bit of loose change in my pocket. It's great for beach rambles and sitting on hilltops, except, it means I miss wonderful photo opportunities all the time and then have to write about them instead. (And as I write this, I realize that I've wanted to do a post like this for ages.)

So, finally and especially for you, dear readers, I carried the camera to the beach when I knew that this was about to happen. Ta daaaaa! That rare and elusive occurrence - sand at Brighton.

Never turning down the opportunity for a paddle, I tucked my sandals under my arm to walk out on the sand mirror that is the beach nearest to me when it isn't being shy and hiding beneath the waves of a tide that doesn't often leave the shore. 

And despite being followed home by the most amazing Turner sky which made it ominously dark at 6pm, (In case you're wondering, I wasn't carrying my paints.)

I was having a ball.

Results day

Still celebrating, a champagne cork rolls in giddy circles under the table legs, plays tabla on the empty deck. An arc of sand mirror is swept by every wave. A private beach. Breathy waves hide and reveal. The girls dance in the diamond shallows, a can can line of whooping.

Harvest

Straight from my plot and the hedgerow that runs around the perimeter fence. The raspberries can wait til breakfast tomorrow, but I'm just stewing the apples and elder and blackberries and the house smells wonderful. They've made a rich dark juice that tastes divine and I wish I could bottle enough of it to somehow send you all a taste.

The harvest has been good so far. Must be the generosity of rain we've had this year. 

I always worry about my crops in the bad weather, as if they might not like the wind thrash, the bake of sun or sudden violent downpours. I joke about how they all seem to perk up when it rains, how they prefer the real thing rather than water from the tap. Well, it seems like everything is growing just fine.

Just flown in

Newly flown in from New Zealand, this Kakapo survived the journey and is about to be framed and put on my wall above my piano where he is sure to be a talking point.

He's made by Lisa Sarsfield who blogs at Lucky dip. She had a giveaway of postcards where my name was one of the lucky ones drawn out of the hat. The collages are made up from papers from the bundles of Lisa's Dis-co project. He's lost some string somewhere along the way across the world, but I just love this. Thanks Lisa.

There's also a little quote on the reverse of the card which says - "A bird in the garden is like hope in your heart." Anon

The swimmer

Wading in the shallows. Knee deep for thirty strides. Waist deep for many more. Far from the shore, he becomes a stick man with pixellating limbs. He kicks away into slick front crawl, cuts a line as straight as the horizon, out in the calm of a grey world where subtle shadows shift the slates and granites of a sky lurking with intent.

Monochrome. More so beside the gaudy brash of the pier. Seagull nursery, complete with a bossy, chunnering guardian. They blend into the sand today, mottled browns and greys on unsure legs.

I love the canyon carve of outlet onto sand, brought into sharp focus by this strange light. The gulls patrol these tiny cliffs, learn to drink from the splash of river without getting their feet wet, without causing a landslide. White water rapids play out into a raying bank of eddies that meet the sea like tangled ringlet hair.

The swimmer, a hundred yards away, fades into the mirage of sea and sky with plodding calligraphy like neat stitches. 

Birdcage

Everyone knew the songs in the "Oliver" medley. The woman next to me danced with her Spaniel and a tail wagged in time. Babies were bobbed high on shoulders and the invitation to clap along with one of the marches was taken like folks had been waiting for that very moment.

The newly restored bandstand, ready ahead of time has been a huge hit. I remember watching the structure being taken apart last Autumn and seeing the scaffolding holding an empty space once the pillars had been stacked ready to go to the foundry on a slow truck.

Back to the original 1880's colour scheme, with a lovely copper roof and the original bridge reaching out from the promenade, we've got our birdcage back. I guess it had been waiting for the sound of the trombones all that time.

The weekend

A day made

for strolling

beach-worn sandals

curve to the shape of my feet.