Time to write, and so, after dropping Tom at school I thought it was a good day to commute to work. I drove to Whitesands Beach, 2 miles from home, and with notebook and pen and glasses that go dark in the sunshine, with a hare and the moon necklace and a moonstone ring as talisman I walked to search for words, hunting a story. The sun was shining fierce when I set off with hope in my heart, but soon the mist began to veil all. Over the hill and far away, and up and up and up.
Almost at the top of the hill, a small cluster of burial chambers is the only reminder of people who lived here so many years ago that even their bones are dust. Step after step, words began to gather. So when we reached the hill top high we found a place in the shadow of the wind, me and three dogs, and settled to write as the mist played with the landscape, and the wind sang a song in the grass and the gorse.
Part of the story caught we moved on and down, hunting, searching for more, past the wild ponies, the valley with golden reeds, and the orchids and out to the arm of rock that juts into the sea where sometimes there are porpoise. Here we rested again and chased words.
Moving on again, past bright, bone-white ponies with midnight dark foals we could see the beach and the high hill was now clear of the cool mist. In a warm place I gathered the last of the words and then home. Outside the door the postman had left a parcel, from Jennifer Warnes in the USA, a signed copy of Famous Blue Raincoat, remastered and with unreleased songs and notes, The Hunter, and an LP version of The Hunter. And on The Hunter, her version of The Whole of the Moon, which is such a gift in itself. So wonderful.
Now it is time to gather all the words and thoughts in before I have to walk back to the beach in the evening to collect the car.
The sun is still shining, and the wind is rising.