A Climate Of Surprise
Mr was attacking the pampas grass. It
must go, lovely as it shakes under a night wind and brings to mind tropical
storms and thoughts of white sanded island beaches. The whip of those leaves
cut like paper edges.
I had a plan to dig up the bushy tree that
grows nothing edible, to make room for cherry and plum. Before my hand can
touch a spade, the rain comes cold and wet.
It's a commonly held belief here that if
one is to be cold and wet one might as well be at the seaside.
From the damp earth to Widemouth Bay we
travel, by rusty car. One 50 pence piece, and one 10, drop into the ticket
machine to buy one hour of car park time.
Dog runs, the rocks are sculptural, the
pools clear, the sun visible, warmth discernable, my feet jump out of their
boots. Mr looks at bends of rock and sighs over forces.
We run back to the car under pelts of
hail: stop halfway home to buy hot pasties, gobble them up, giggle at the steam
on windows.
Comments
Must take our lovable dog for a run on the beach. Will park on a side street. Too cheap to pay for parking!
Be well.
Gary
Thank you everyone - hope we can ditch the pampas... might need a bonfire! That will heat the garden up even if spring keeps chucking hail at us :-)