Time at the beach

As mentioned previously and probably copiously, there is a balance to be maintained. The in/out dilemma has to be remembered and experiences absorbed or books read to counterbalance the massive amount of writing that takes place in any given day. Such is the way of things, especially when prewriting swathes of holiday cover material" The following was written next to the beach yesterday evening.

"Let's be descriptive. Around me is the splendour of Aberystwyth prom. The sun is setting behind one of only two cloud banks in the sky, growing more and more golden with each second. The waves rush back and forth on the surf of a nearly low tide. It is serene. A few isolated people wander along the fringe of pebbles and sand.

Upon the prom edge I sit, cross-legged, observing and absorbing and relating the surrounding events. The in/out dilemma is evaded completely in purely relating what goes on around. A boy kicks an orange ball around listlessly, and the prom becomes busier as the sun settles more and more closely to the horizon, busier with more walkers, friends and lovers hand in hand out for constitutionals, and people with cameras looking for sunset photographs. The ball is now in the surf and has been for ages, but is finally retrieved very tentatively, before ridiculously being kicked even further out. Some disturbances now, as seagulls and a loitering man on a phone conspire to break the spell of the deep yellow light. It is all of life in a sudden little microcosm.

Stepping closer to the beach the world becomes quieter, apart from the whoosh of the waves. Everything else becomes more remote and a world or possibilities reopens right there and then.

Thwoosh.

You can stand on one leg. Why not? Or do a twirl, spin until you're dizzy, sing a song, and then unsteadily retreat backwards as the waves rush in to catch you unawares. Remember the sea is always watching. It remembers every rock you've thrown in, after all.

Thwoosh. Reach. Dance out of range.

The sun emerges from cloud cover bathed in orange on the watery horizon and everything slows down for a few moments. ('Horizontal' comes from 'horizon'? Why had I never realized that before?) The orange ball moves further and further out as the wave approach closer and closer. It is lovely, impossible to do in Summer but perfect now. Perfect little moments alone with that great dissolver of worries, the grand old sea.

Sunset. Silvery shimmering waters. Repose."

O.