Days like these

Days like these, once you've started walking, you feel like you never want to stop.

Not enough hours spent in such places for me this week, but the longer days and our early blast of Summer sun make it all feel possible. There have been some gorgeously still mornings on the beach here in town, the kind of mornings where there's no horizon visible.

These shots were taken a few miles along the coast from here, from Seaford Head which is separated from that line of Seven Sisters by the River Cuckmere. Amazing that I caught that first view looking East how I like it best - with no-one else there!! 

This next one, looking down and West, changes with every season as erosion bites in. I wish I'd taken a shot of the same view every time to compare. That lone stack left on the beach diminishes each time I go there. But now I've taken the shot it makes me go a bit funny as I hadn't noticed those two people standing right at the edge!!

Spring has sprung

Looks like Spring really has sprung.

I sat beside this row of hyacinths as I ate my lunch at the plot today. Hot in the sun. It felt so good after digging and weeding, hoeing and trimming. But the ground in the beds we've prepared for planting is like grey dust. More like how it gets in July and August. I'm worried about the new onions we planted a few weeks ago, and how any seed will fare now we're officially in a drought.

Yes. In March. In England. Large swathes of it. And here, we're soon to come under strict measures to save water.

Despite what I read about climate change, these hyacinths came into bloom the same week they normally do. So I'm taking it as a sign that the plants know what they're doing and hoping the onions will be pushing up the dust in late Summer as well.

Now I must go and scrub my dusty nails as I have an interesting gig tomorrow night with my favourite duo partner guitarist, Dave Allen. It's at the March Hare which is a crossover event between musicians and artists at the Coach House in Kemptown. I think everyone's wondering what it might be like. We're hoping our set will emerge out of and blend into a mix with the performers who are on stage before and after us. Fingers crossed. Here's the link to the info.

Birdsong is back

The birdsong is back, in full glory. Precious days like these, there's lots to sing about. 

He's out in the garden right now, digging through all the old twigs, leaves and stalks that I swept up yesterday and piled onto the soil. He doesn't sing here. The other birds provide the soundtrack. This blackbird likes to check up on me. Maybe he found a few bits of apple core he missed yesterday?

He just comes for snacks and diggings and an occasional messy bath that leaves no water in the tray. Sometimes he brings his mate and they dig through everything again and scatter the path with old tea bags. Maybe there will be chicks this year?

At my old house, another blackbird inspired this piece. And it was lovely to hear last week that my words from back then had inspired someone to get busy. Fiona Dempster emailed me and asked if she could use my words and I was absolutely thrilled when she sent a few shots of what she had in mind!! 

You can read about her new piece over at her blog. It was even better when the postman brought a package from the other side of the world with my words taking flight again. Now it's displayed across the top of my piano. Thanks again, Fiona. I love it.

Five planets

My camera doesn't like the dark. But here's the picture. It gets better. You'll see it come clearer in your mind.

Low tide sand. Yards of it. I'm walking in the dark, walking towards Jupiter and Venus. They're high above the last pink smudge of sunset, the brightest things in the sky. Brighter than the flashing, pulsing pier, brighter than the planes that tilt towards Gatwick. Everything looks pale in comparison to the brilliant planets that look down on us. And this is the most wonderful feeling, to be walking free from a shadow and a reflection, to be walking without making a sound.

Someone is calling an invisible dog. I hear small feet skittering as they run on stones, but see nothing where the sound leads me to look.

I walk out to the spot where sand goes under, the place where the spill of stones reaches out further, where the night beach falls away into the rake and tussle of weight and shift. I look for Mercury as I head back home, but don't know where to start looking. The sky feels huge against a cliff of town that looms above black hills of stones. I'm too early for Saturn, which rises later in the east, but Mars is rising behind and above me, a red eye watching my back.

Fire poi roar into life. Burning Os spin against black screens of night, an orange pen doodles over the same shape. Held in the stone O of the banjo groyne, it's the perfect stage for his sky drama, messages sent from castle walls in the hope that someone is keeping watch.

From 93 steps up, it looks like someone juggles with fireballs and never lets one drop.

Something on the way

Cane shadows play on corrugated fences. The apple tree is covered in buds. Winter garlic looks bright in the sun, happy after all that the weather has thrown at it. The last few leeks are ready to head to the pan. After weeding the herb bed, it's warm enough to sit and take time to have tea and decide where to plant the onions this time.

Just one day of blue in between many like this beautifully moody one -

But look. Something is definitely on the way.

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I just added 3 new tracks to my soundcloud page if anyone fancies having a listen.