This essay – the fifth in a series which you can read here – is part of an ongoing defiance against the dying of the light. These acts involve escape from short days and darkness; they are sometimes literal, at other times metaphorical, and are a form of word painting, conjuring acts of meditation that match the mood of a picture I’ve taken.
The Dark Months – Five
Seas are like gateways, their ebbs and flows exchange ideas, trade, flora and fauna, people, and systems of thought.
The soothing sound of the sea sets right much that is wrong with the world, or which activates alarm; the sea is a panacea for what ails us.
Water also reflects, refracts and amplifies light.
That’s why, whatever the weather, there is always a sense of joyous expectation as we near the sea.
And so it was.
High up on a clifftop walkway, paved and secure, yet exposed and buffeted by gales.
Stunted trees and shrubs with wizened and lichen bright trunks arch and dance in staccato rhythm.
Cresting the hill; above an oculus sun garlanded by watery clouds, the sea below in myriad mercury bright mirrors shattering against a gravel shore.
In this moment, with this sight, there is a sense of breaking free. The confines of the city lie far behind, mired in greasy, grey grime. Ahead is the freedom of a jewelled treasury of possibility.
Breathe the clean air.
Cleanse the soul.
Climbing down the cliff to the seashore where water plays on gravel.
A young girl skips past some beach huts. Her bright pink jacket seems to cast a magical glow against the gloom, rendering each hut a brighter pink than the one before.
The sun comes out and the wind dies down.
There is magic by the sea.
In little over 7 weeks, the days will start getting longer. We have to hope that brightness will return.