Every seventh wave

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.

Piano on the beach

I told you I live in a quirky town.

Strolling in sun that made me take my coat off, that made me wish I could just lie on my favourite seaside bench and doze through the afternoon. Nearly home. There it was. A piano on the beach. And hardly anyone blinked an eye.

I ran home for the camera, knowing no-one would believe me. They still don't. But maybe that's because I spend so much time making things up as I go along?

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Thursday's gig went really well and was LOTS of fun.

It was great to get into the swing of things and to read 2 sets of poems and also to have feedback from the audience. Thanks to everyone who sent me good wishes for it. Ax

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And, I just heard that a few of my thoughts will be featured in Seth's post tomorrow over at the Altered page. This will be part of the Master class series. Be interesting to see what Seth has chosen to link to tomorrow.

What the birds saw + a poetry gig this week

Most people just walked on

heading into the surprise heat of sun.

It made you close your eyes.

Bliss smoothed across your face,

the first time since October.

We swooped through a ballet

of unfurling limbs that reached across

grey screens. An empty stage

let the trees remind us.

We are all dancers.

And there's a poetry gig coming up this Thursday. I'll be reading work penned in the last year and a couple of very new pieces. Be great to see you there if you're in Brighton. Here's the info.

Thursday 23rd February 2012 - The Coach House

7.30
Brighton


The Coach House is a unique and intimate venue in Brighton (Kemptown) and I'll be joining 4thirtythree, A K A and Tom Cunliffe in an evening of improvised music and poetry.

Bright

One of the best things about living in a seaside town? A remedy to Winter grey is always close by in fairground rides and the pier and strings of fairy lights. Right now, from my front doorstep, you can see the pier shouting into the night.

But my favourite time there is at dusk, watching the sky backdrop change behind all the lights. These shots were taken at the weekend after a day bursting with sun. (We haven't seen any since.) It was one of those days when you just had to wrap up and be out in every last moment of daylight and walk home in the dark.

My camera isn't too great at seeing in fading light, so it was great to find it had made its own interpretations of some of the wave forms that I nearly erased, thinking they had come out as blanks.

And even though everyone seemed to be staying out, there was a calm that I stood and watched until I could hardly see it any more.

Less is more

Low tide beach just across the road, sunset.

Been very busy with writing and music projects lately. New music, a huge writing project and gigs in the pipeline. Some exciting stuff on the go. (There's a new track up on my Soundcloud page which will give you a little hint of what I've been up to. Click here to go right to the track.)

All going well, but quieter now, for a while. It's been a bit exhausting at times when things have really moved forward. But February being February, I've missed not being able to recharge my batteries outdoors, on the beach and on my veggie plot. It's been WAY too cold for anything other than a near run into town.

My new year resolution this year was to do less. Not sure that's been the case so far!! So it was nice to have a low tide walk today and to remind myself that it's okay when it feels like nothing is happening. Less is more.

Trying to forget it's February

I thought we'd be waking up to snow this morning. Hills on the outskirts of town have a covering. But not just here. After one of the coldest weeks I can ever remember, I was looking forward to sitting beside the window watching the sky flake down.

Trying to forget it's February, I walked the grey beach under dark clouds instead, found this tangle of net and rope caught on an old jetty, took a few photos and hurried home for soup.

Out in the garden, there seemed to be something agitating the birds. When I looked out, I saw that their water tray has finally thawed. A family of blue tits is taking a noisy bath in it.

If I traced every flight path they turn across the garden, I'm sure it would weave a mesh of lines caught in branches, just like that net on the beach. And maybe that's what I'll watch as I sit beside the window this afternoon......