Tag Archives: beach

Thoughts on a Spring Day

It’s so good to finally feel warmth at last, in the air, on my face, and bones, and here at the stone circle. Taking in sunshine under one solitary soft cloud.

I stood awhile and listened to the bleating of the sheep in the field opposite. Ewes watching lambs frolick and leap in the sun.

I placed my palms face down on the ancient granite and felt the heat warm my hands. Absorbing centuries of energy, it felt like being charged, zapped. How many others have done this before me. 5,000 years of people passing through. A shepherdess droving, a Pict defending, smugglers, soldiers, farmers, all on their way.

Specks of dust. Rays of sun. Year on year. Don’t blink. You might miss it.

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The Sea (and Pedro the SeaDog)

The Sea (and Pedro the SeaDog)

The sea is a hungry dog,
Giant and grey.
He rolls on the beach all day.
With his clashing teeth and shaggy jaws
Hour upon hour he gnaws
The rumbling, tumbling stones,
And ‘Bones, bones, bones, bones! ‘
The giant sea-dog moans,
Licking his greasy paws.

And when the night wind roars
And the moon rocks in the stormy cloud,
He bounds to his feet and snuffs and sniffs,
Shaking his wet sides over the cliffs,
And howls and hollos long and loud.

But on quiet days in May or June,
When even the grasses on the dune
Play no more their reedy tune,
With his head between his paws
He lies on the sandy shores,
So quiet, so quiet, he scarcely snores.

James Reeves

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April 29, 2014 · 8:46 am

Windy Wales Weekend with Windmills

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Forgive me, I haven’t been in touch for a while.

I’ve been abroad, over the border, across the water.

To Wales. For the Weekend.

Wow. Not a Washout. We enjoyed sunshine. Warm, dry, crinkly-eyed sunshine.

It’s worth writing about, because it’s the first time I’ve been to Welsh Wales for many years, having sworn never again – after two or three soggy, sodden, torrential, miserable visits in a row – would we venture into the land of Barabrith, Laverbread and Leeks.

We’ve all been there, flicking through the glossy Travel Section, pausing over some quaint Fisherman’s Cottage, or Shepherd’s Retreat. Or Drover’s Den.

What fun! Log burners, and Scrabble, and walks along the beach…

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The reality is the log burner spews out the cheap wet hunks of whatever, bought from the petrol station, and Scrabble ends in tears, too much cheating, too few vwls, and walks along the beach are tricky in Force 9 hail storms.

NO INTERNET. NO FOOTY ON SKY.

NO GARLIC/ROCKET or Organic Ice Cream. NoΒ Villa Maria.

Back to basics. But who wants basics? On holiday? Who wants to be wet, and cold and somewhere else?

So this weekend was a gamble. An outside chance. And it galloped home. I’m even thinking about booking again. But the possibility of four consecutive days of sunshine is remote.

Whoaaaa.

For the time being, I’ll look at my photos and smile – warmly – inwardly, and share two or three.

 

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So no bijouterie or beautiful bits and bobs today.

PoshPedlar’s been in Wales.

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