Saturday, 20 May 2006
Today I went for a walk along the harbour. It was hard to drag myself away from the fire and my book, but I knew that I'd be glad I did.
The photo I've posted was one I took not long ago, but when conditions were calmer than today. Today there weren't any reflections.
However the harbour looked wonderfully silver in the dying afternoon-light and the water ruffled and scrunched by a nippy breeze.
I was warmly wrapped in gloves, woollen hat, scarf and coat.
I saw elegant gulls with lolloping wings and the more angular, quicker terns, both out diving for food in the water.
I saw a kayak, a canoe and a wind-surfer's bright, orange-and-pink sail.
When there was a lull in passing traffic, I could hear my own footsteps and the bottom of my jeans making rhythmic flapping sounds. I noticed there are no longer any grasshoppers creaking in the roadside plantings. The last of them have disappeared along with the warm nights.
In some of the gardens of the houses I passed nearer to home, pink roses were still gamely budding. Summer's sweet peas, though, were just brown stalks with rotting, broken backs. Drooping corpses slung over fences.
However, the rhodendrons are very much alive and kicking - shamelessly flaunting shiny, conical tips, like green rockets, all ready to blast off in September.
Ah, but September seems a long, long way away. Before then we have winter in which to retreat and reflect and gather our resources.
Home now to ABM's offer to 'do tea' and the smell of tuna with pasta and cheese cooking while I write this and think ahead to an evening in by the fire with wine, TV or a book - and smug in the knowledge that I went for my walk and loosened my bones and stretched my short legs and treated myself to the harbour's beauty once again.