Downsized and beach combing.
I walk the dog late at night, around the streets until we stand on the prom looking out to sea. You can see for miles, the water black and still. Emptiness where the town ends and the sea begins.
A sky bereft of clouds. Dog roses sprinkle pink, aromatic ladders from thorny cages, an anarchy of green and purple exploding into white..
Swinging footloose, light footed, leaning into nothing. A caught breath, then balance, working to the rhythm of the sea's boredom before a slip and spin across the shore.
Peace,. and a sort of abstraction,. as the metronome counts. one pale. pink. petal. after another. f. a. l. l. i. n. g. in excess. on the window's frame..
A cacophony of black plumed crows gleaming amongst dark branches. A scattering of feathers stilled from murderous flight..
Two boats rocking between nowhere on the soft gleamed edge of the tide. A restlessness of colour circled by waves swelling against the sand..
Overcast, cloudy, dim, dull: how many ways to say the day is grey. A distant grumbling, a whisper of wind, a rustling of rain on leaves..
Storm clouds and the fog horns steady soothing moan. Sea and shore and air fuse into a drifting watermarked world of blurred boundaries..
Under slate grey clouds thunder blossoms overhead ignored by pouring torrents of translucent rain dancing over my shoulders, soaking my skin..
Summer grasses sway idly as butterflies spin and tumble like frail kites, flickering wings brushed by the kiss of the breeze and the subtle pulse of a flower opening..
Huntcliff shoulders up a pale, translucent sky.
Plucking strings in paper-cutting rhythms you are my compass and my chasm travelling unknown routes, testing gravity..
A room webbed in shadows, a maze of mirrors, distorted into confusing curves.
Tumbling through summer beneath stubborn cliffs the sea can't contain. The ocean is immense. At the edge all is melancholy, and sea and salt..
Solitude, and a pale sky filled with the echo of persistent rain. The deep cool smell of earth in sombre mood licking the glass of hours..
Rising early, before dawn, to sit quietly, perfectly still, the mind balanced. Out of nothingness light and birdsong announces the morning..
Morning begins at the window. After a night of starlight the wet rose sings to the sun, sharp shafts of music dazzling the silence..
(observation of a postcard view of an Edwardian lady walking the beach near the pier). There is no hurry. as she shelters under. the shadow of a red umbrella. glazed with sunlight,.
The morning is his. Alone he plunges into the dark grey depths where it is cold, before moving into sunlight where the water is flecked with gold.
A solitary evening, clear-starred, moonless, a sky in silence. Blind night sings a mournful melody as the wind whispers Sunday evensong..
Seaweed, and the tang of salt thick air, stones rounded smoothly by the ebb tides wear, wind lapped waves under broad grey skies echoing the solitude where the lone gull flies..
Sunlight falls onto a pool of water and filters through the window, reflecting on the wall. I don't see the spiders web until rain strings its beads..
June, the air calm and sweet scented with the sea beaten deep grey. Salt licked boats motionless, suspended on the horizon as the rippled tide glistens on silver touched sands.
The dandelion on the pavement is just a detail, unregistered in the senses until the wind whirls about and blows the seeds to distract us..
A leaden sky and a watery palette of wind whipped greys. Shuttered in, cocooned by warmth, the food, the conversation, oblivious to the snow falling silently outside.
The rain has whitened the morning sky and the magnolia blossom is all in tatters, a torn paper confetti of small white petals scattered and fed to the wind like snow..
The day-dawn smile floats like vapour on the soft summer air, radiant under the sky's soft tint. A cool colour Polaroid of pastel shades..
Like scavengers we were caught in the morning light by sparkling pools of salt-scoured water-weathered pebbles.
The hawthorn blooms and branches droop with swishing whispers, swinging and swaying with the wind for a partner, humming and singing the song of May..
I stand alone. In the gunmetal light of the morning the minutes of the earth - and the hours and the days and the years - toll in the silence.
By walking in opposite directions we have mutually exiled each other —not in knowledge, but in calm indifference. And the tide teases the sand drowning it in salt-wine..
Meaning: In a state of confusion and disorder. Origin: This is an extension of the nautical phrase 'at sea' and dates from the days of sail when accurate navigational aids weren't available.