16th June from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

Blackberries are already fat and green. Not long before every visitor will be able to grab a hand full as the saunter round in the sunshine. The water in the bay is transparent with a silver sheen. Old Harry shines bright white through the windows of the cliff top shelter. The litter pickers are doing a great job starting the day afresh. The summer crop of orange tents are beginning to spring up in the shady places. It seems that if you scribble over the notice forbidding such practice with yellow marker it will cancel the £100 fine. Blackbirds are tuning up for the day. Pigeons coo lazily.

From 16th June 2022

Under a hot, milky sky The big tractor comes to mow the green. The orange three gang mower roars and hums That it is towing.  Counterpointing the squabbling of the gulls. The driver is careful and takes it slow The tractor dips and lurches over the bumps And places where trees used to grow, Old friends, long gone in winter storms Now remembered by the clumps of darker green. The mower leaves three neat swathes Already drying to hay in the sun. The scent of the mowing is heavy And mixes with the diesel from the tractor. The long grasses nod their heads Dusty and heavy with ripe seed Their job is done and the mower sends their bounty into the air for another time. Magpies fossick among the hay. Pigeons gorge among the stalks Filling their crops to bursting And helping with the scattering. After the mowing is the sowing. Now small herbs and flowers  Can feel the light. Timid small birds can make use of the dried grass Another cycle begins. After the mowing, the growing. #westcliffgreen #bournemouth #June #summer

From 16th June 2021

A misty morning first thing. The sun is reluctant to make an appearance. Flowering plants are keeping themselves to themselves. Robins are filling the morning air. They seem to take any chance that's offered to sing. A family of (grey) squirrels are snuffling about in the dead leaves finding tasty morsels for breakfast. A young crow has to work harder and pursues its parent under the trees until the the older bird gives up and lets the youth have something from its beak. The sea is calm but oddly restless.