This is dedicated to a friend of mine, Penny. Cheers lass (-:
A walk on Llandanog Beach. 11:57:44 AM November 19th 2000
It was very cold when I got there. But bright. I parked and got my light fawn coat out of the back of the car. As I walked towards the beach path two people came from the beach, walking towards me. I was just adjusting my sleeves for maximum warmth when the man spoke.
“Make sure you wrap up warm”.
“Two coats”. I replied with a smile on my face.
But they were gone. Backs towards me. Out of my life.
I turned and finished arranging myself. The wind was seriously intent on being chilly. Biting. As my foot hit the stones that sit along the top of Llandanog beach I started singing.
I’m on the beach alone
looking at stones
I’m singing out words
To an empty world
With no one around
No need for profound
Stepping on rocks
Whilst others just sleep
Keep looking around
To see who is listening
To my song
See the washing hanging
On the line
A beachside bungalow
But no one is visible
Keep singing the words that I find.
I get my digital camera out and click away.
From that moment on till the end of the walk my camera is strapped on my wrist.
I play a game that I play on the beach at Llandanog. This beach is the only one close with stepping stones. I step from stone to stone, using it to improve my balance and my calmness.
As I step my way towards the sea and then away I look for something that will catch my eye, actively seeking something different.
It might be the sand blasted drink can locked under a rock. The number of times a beautiful shell has been locked under a rock so it would be hard to get at without breaking it and there is a man made can in the same predicament. Boring to anyone else but I photo it anyway.
Green glass. Sand washed and soapy or just in the making. A woman I know would like to collect lots of it. So I think of her as I pass every bit without picking it up. She and I aren’t talking at the moment.
My head jumps inside itself and the walking becomes semi automatic. Thoughts that should be put to one side bubble forth like water from stepped on bogland and flood my stone stepping times.
Away once again from my head and I am back in the land of the .. oak leaf.
On the beach.
Symbolism run rife.
With added tide
Grains and leaves
Ash and elm
Washed and wet.
A strange mix.
The Sun. Back to the walk and a new set of rocks as I make my way Shell Island direction towards the end of the break water.
Sea foam and people. A group. One with a purple coat. One walks nearer the water’s edge. I think, now, that she was stepping in the foam.
As they move down the beach I angle across and end up flumphing my feet into the spume pie topping. I walk in the water and think of an old friend, Nick, who died after showing me the joys of wet feet and good conversation. The Sun and dark clouds look well together against the backdrop of Llyn hills
And the sea scud wraps the shoreline. Wet sand. Dry sand. People in between.
Bird gait marks. Criss cross and stagger some light and others deep. Man’s feet and bird’s feet fill the same space at different times but could they really have been friends walking side by side in idle contemplation of the other’s view?
Shells and things
And leaves again
And hands of men
Inscribe the steel clad
Slate built warrior
Who guards the entrance
To the calm
I walk further than normal as I follow the creak up to its end in Pensarn.
There is a boat by the shore and I look inside it. Half filled with clear water. Sea or rain. Try it? Nah! A land snail, upside down in the bow.
Take it with me to grasses green.
A camera in one hand a snail in the other.
The snail gets dropped into a thicket of old rose and bramble with the thought that other creatures are likely to be living there that might eat this snail sooner than if I had left it in the bow of the boat.
Nearly back at the car.
Near the old church stands a group of four people. Christians. Uh oh. What do I look like? Will they judge? They move in time with me. Clearing my way so that I don’t have to walk by them. The little wadi is filled with water. Normally it is dry. The lovers gate is a pond where feet step. I step in and say thanks to Nick, again.
I get into the car and the rain restarts.
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