Interim...

... for Knots in the String.

Waves continuously wash away footprints,
Like time washes away, leaving you with a clean slate.
A smooth beach.
Waves wash away the good and bad.
Waves and time don't discriminate….

Chase. "A Smooth Beach." Family Friend Poems, July 19, 2018.

I walk most days regardless of any weather and despite the rain, the humidity and threat of thunder today, I pull on ancient kayaking leggings with a saltwater-faded white behind, a raincoat and my old Sebago boatshoes which are so used to being wet anyway that a bit of rain means nothing.

It’s a soothing walk and so striking in a wispy, damp kind of way. The mist drapes down over the hills and across the sea – shades of old Miss Haverhsam’s bridal veil.

Torn in places by a rocky outcrop at Black Point, or by the thinning of the day’s age straight above me.

The sea is gently pockmarked by a southeasterly breeze, strong enough to lift at the big corporate umbrella I carry and so I prepare my feet in case I lift off like Mary Poppins. (First position in ballet!).

But by and large a calm walk, finding special oyster shells and every now and then hearing the satisfying crack as my feet squash a piece of popper bead seaweed (Neptune’s Necklace Hormosira banksia). It’s supposed to be yum to eat. Fair enough.

I find wakame kelp weed which is a destructive pest in our waters and originally came from visiting Japanese trawlers last century. Even so, it dries into edible flakes.

And as I coddywomple along, I find a plastic bucket, much damaged, and so retrieve it from the water to place next to the public waste bin above the high water mark.

I find myself soothed after the walk and come home to write, to answer a birthday invitation and think of what to wear to said party. We must wear white and I don’t wear white. I cook some haloumi to add to the tray of roast veg. And think that if the rain has stopped this evening, then after dinner we shall walk some more, come home to an episode of All Creatures and then switch the TV off to sit in a companionable silence while he reads and I stitch Christmas Tomtes to bag up with a chocolate coin for the children’s wards.

I’m back to reading again too, as my attention span improves by degrees since the Terrier passed away. In print, My Mother and I, the light biography of King Charles III by Ingrid Seward. Via e-book, The Forgotten Bookshop in Paris by Daisy Wood - a nice story set across WWII and modern times. Wood has a very light touch with fact, something I appreciate when reading, as I hate the info-dump. And on audio, an excellent memoir, Between the Stops, by Sandy Toksvig. I like Toksvig – have always enjoyed her TV appearances and find her such a repository of knowledge. Her memoir is vastly different to others I’ve read, she brilliantly diverts the reader with fascinating facts dropped like truffle shavings into her life – only to enhance, never to drown out the flavour.

And that’s it for this day, really.

Just an interim post while the spirit moves me. No music. That’s for the regular post on Saturday.

Thanks for reading and catch you then.