No surprise to see the bluetits diving into the mist to reach their breakfast at the bird feeder. The foghorn had woken me in the night, almost vocal in the stillness.
Early this morning, the beach was a slow hushed symphony. All sounds muted. The waves shushing one side of my face, a distant hammer on the dead weight of metal, sporadic traffic seemingly in no rush to get anywhere, and that haunting pulsing wail of the foghorn, one every 6 steps.
The camera didn't much like it, behaved as if there was nothing to see. And there wasn't really, just me disappearing into the mist, walking away from my own scrunching footsteps onto a scrape of sand, the prints of my shoes proving that I was there.
The breeze was brighter in my face as I turned for home, every seventh wave more reckless as the tide pushed in. I have a big gig tonight, am trying to distract myself from a sense of time that seems to have slumped into a slow drudge. Things to do, but not many, more a case of clearing my head so I'm ready for later.
Maggie Nicols is one of the greats of vocal improvisation, having been active on the European jazz scene since the 60's. I'm playing in a quintet with her tonight, and as you can imagine, I've thought about nothing else for quite some time!! This is a big one, so no wonder my violin sounds like it swallowed a bird that it's saving to release later.
Most of you are too far away to come and join us tonight. Sometimes, I wonder if it's just really annoying to hear me mention shows you could never go to, but I like to think that some of you are here with me in spirit. But if you're in Brighton, here's the link to all the info.