1st February from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth
A swift little wind. But it has backed to a more Westerly direction and is much less chilly. The sea is made up of polished ripples which arrive on shore in gentle wavelets. The sun slides in and out from behind big pillows of cloud. When it is out, it casts dark shadows and it is warm enough for those sitting out reading on the benches. The goats have cleared much of the underbrush on the cliff face and the silhouettes and shadows of small birds can be seen dodging about the gorse. In the pine trees, the twittering of goldfinches is almost at full volume.
From 1st February 2022
The strong wind from the north rattles through the tree tops and bowls along the cliff edge combing out the new, long grass and the fresh leaves of the wild garlic straight. Two greenfinches warble and wheeze at each other from rival bushes. Crows sit in the old, burnt pine tree and swoop down the cliff on the wind before pulling up and landing back where they started. A single thread of orange shows across the grey horizon. #Bournemouth #WestCliff #Winter #February #YearOfTheTiger
From 1st February 2019
Despite the continuing sleety flurries and the bitter wind, the snow is gradually retreating. Occaional ghostly stretches loom out of the darkness. There is a strangely liminal feeling to the evening. Not quite one thing nor yet another. The sea itself is undecided. An occasional booming breaker running along the shore line followed by a couple of minutes of small frothy wavelets. A yellowy arc of light out in the bay from the Danish oil rig support vessel Esvagt Dee, strangely homely in the ragged night. A woman talks so loudly into her mobile that her friend could hear it without the phone at all. I gather they are going to meet up at a wedding next week.
From 1st February 2016
Thomas Hardy thought of himself as 'a man who used to notice such things'. What I noticed today was the sudden waft of resin as I walked under the pines. This isn't the gluey chemical smell you might associate with washing up liquid or bathroom cleaner. This was bigger, more complex, resonant with meaning. It conjured up two quite different memories. The first was sitting at a small table in the almost pitch black night of Corfu drinking a flask of piney retsina, "The beaded bubbles winking at the brim." At the same time I recall trudging through silent northern pine forests quite alone and with a heavy yellow sky overhead pregnant with snow. I hope you find something to notice today.
From 1st February 2015
The wind is bone-marrow cold. The streetlights stare own uncomprehendingly at the empty midnight road. The lights are going out in the apartment blocks. Above, a knife sharp moon and his teeming cohorts plan the night's entertainment.
From 1st February 2011
sea is polished gold. further out a band of steel below a low bank of purple cloud and a sky of startling copper green.
