The Sea...

I took these photos earlier. It was so invigorating to be walking along next to such amazing waves, towering over me... the spray splashing my face, the salt coating my lips like lipstick...

I felt so alive!

It felt good.

The Bigger Picture - video...

This follows on from the previous blog - I made this (very amateurish!) video too...

Beside the seaside, beside the sea...

As you no doubt all know by now, I love the sea ... so, on that theme, I thought I'd share these poems - they're not by me! - I might have posted them before - sorry if I have! 

Hope you enjoy them x

~~~~

 

Sea Fever

John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

 

The Sea

JAMES REEVES

The sea is a hungry dog.

Giant and grey.

He rolls on the beach all day.

With his clashing teeth and shaggy jaws

Hour upon hour he gnaws

The rumbling, tumbling stones,

And ‘Bones, bones, bones, bones!’

The giant sea-dog moans,

Licking his greasy paws.

And when the night wind roars

And the moon rocks in the stormy cloud,

He bounds to his feet and snuffs and sniffs,

Shaking his wet sides over the cliffs,

And howls and hollos long and loud.

But on quiet days in May and June,

When even the grasses on the dune

Play no more their reedy tune,

With his head between his paws

He lies on the sandy shores,

                                   

So quiet, so quiet, he scarcely snores.

White Horses...

... I've just been for another walk by the sea - the waves are still thundering in my ears and I can still taste salt on my lips. Over the last few days the sea has been a writhing, gurgling monster topped with a seething mass of  foamy white tentacles... Yet at times it has also seemed elegant and inviting - pure white horses galloping atop turquoise waves that roll in and out with the tide... Rainbows have been dancing between clouds, playing hide and seek with the sun... It never ceases to amaze me how the seascape outside my window changes with every breath I take...

As I walked along watching the waves, I remembered a poem I wrote a few years back. I don't think I've put it in this blog before, although I'm sure I put it on 'myspace' quite some time ago... Having reread it, it could do with tweaking here and there, I think - but I thought I'd post it again anyway:

Stars and White Horses

Wild white horses

Gallop on the crest of the waves.

I long to ride bareback

Along the golden sand;

To the point where land

And sea

Merge

And become one.

To the point where

Mind, body and soul

Are one.

In a flurry of stamping feet

And tossing manes,

The horses rear up

And flick their tails.

And, in an instant,

They are gone.

But the roar of the sea

Goes on

And on.

The day slowly slips away

And changes into night.

The stars begin to blaze.

And, in a far away land,

A sleepy white horse

Stamps his foot;

and neighs.

and here is a little video I made - a bit wobbly and unprofessional, but never mind - I wanted to try and somehow capture the essence and feel of the sea. However, I have reached the conclusion that it is more or less impossible to capture the rawness and all that emotion in a photo or on film... You have to be there... Simple as that... and I'm so grateful that I am ... every day!

Sandwiches on the sand ...

I didn’t have any clients on Monday, so I decided to make the most of an empty page in my diary, and we headed off for another lovely lazy hazy day out. Here are some of my impressions of the day:

‘Driving along the Northumbrian coast and through sleepy flower-filled villages...

Brightest blue sky with perfect fluffy white clouds and beaming rays of sunshine bouncing off golden syrup-coloured cornfields....

Ancient tractors chugging along, towing bales of hay, driven by checky-shirt-clad, rosy-cheeked farmers...

Us walking along the riverside path at Warkworth, watching swans, ducks and a heron going about their business...

Further along, fish jumping up and out of the river – silver flashes arching out of the blue, momentarily; then rippling circles on the surface of the water almost hypnotising us. Swallows swooping so low they were actually dipping into the water every now and then.

The red-orange wings of a comma butterfly standing out beautifully against the weathered wooden fence – pausing long enough for me to get a photo, but it half fluttered, half skipped away before Iona had the chance to get her camera ready.

Then us walking round the edge of the castle and down the main street, following a young boy play-fighting with his granddad; his sister holding hands with grannie. Iona saying: ‘I’m so jealous of them’; and me silently nodding my head in agreement. It only feels like yesterday that we were a perfect little family group having a day out with grandparents; yet at the same time it feels like another lifetime ago. ‘Well, we’ve got each other, and I’m having a lovely time’, I eventually say, and Iona smiles and says: ‘Me too!’...

Everything feels so bittersweet these days, though. How is it possible to feel so much joy, yet so much pain, at exactly the same time?

‘Come on, I know a secret path we can go down – you’ll love it!’ I say excitedly; hoping that my memory hasn’t got it wrong... Intrigued, Iona follows, and yes, here we are now, gleefully walking along a narrow little path, winding along the back of some allotments, and we catch glimpses of secret gardens, peering through rickety old gates. ‘I love this!’ Iona beams from behind her camera lens. ‘It reminds me of great-grannie and grandad’s garden and allotment!’ I say, and Iona agrees... We end up almost back where we started, and sit for a while on a wooden bench underneath an old oak tree; so simple, so timeless, so perfect...

Later, we walk through sand dunes and down onto the beach. The tide is on its way out. I take my sandals off and run round in circles excitedly – like a 4yr old rather than 40-something. I run into the sea – the icy water makes me gasp, but after a moment it feels fine. We wander along, collecting shells and stones and crabs’ legs (Iona, not me!) that are scattered along the strandline. ‘Poor crabs’, we keep murmuring – so many legs and bodies all over the place. ‘Hopefully it means that there must be a lot more still alive, if there are so many dead ones’ I say; a little unconvincingly, I think...

We collapse into a sand dune and sit watching the sea for a while; both of us lost in thought. I reach for my pen, wanting to record this moment – it feels so perfect – but my pen runs out after I write one word: ‘sand’...

Trying to remember some of the words I wanted to write, all I can think of now is more words beginning with ‘s’: sand, soft, smooth; sea, soothing, swooshing; seagulls, screeching, squawking; sky, sunshine, stones, shells; splashes...

Sometimes words can paint such a vivid picture ... but sometimes, they can’t! So I’m pleased I had my camera to capture what my pen couldn’t....

As we head back to the car, 3 RAF planes roar over us, faster than lightning – the sound almost turning me to stone in terror. Once the fear passes, Iona almost rolls round on the ground in fits of laughter as I tell her how terrified I was of these planes when I was a child.

‘I used to throw myself to the ground, screaming and waving my arms and legs around!’

‘No!! Really??!!’

‘Yes! Once, I was so scared I threw a cup of ribena over Uncle Peter, and then I got slapped!’

‘No!!?’

‘Yes!!’

Another one flies over and almost on cue, I cling onto Iona like a baby, and she says ‘Yes, I believe you!’ ...

We drive along to Newton by the Sea and it’s a beautiful way to end a perfect afternoon. Families and dogs sit outside the pub, enjoying the laid back, tranquil timelessness. We fall in love with a piano in a skip and an Asda delivery man who, once his delivery is done, sits on a bench next to his van, and contentedly soaks up the view. Colourful boats lined up on the sand like toys, families wandering along the beach, dogs running around with wagging tails... A honking flock of geese fly over and, once our shandy has been supped, we return to the car park...

We head home, past the bench where the old man with a red face and a smile was sitting, back through the villages and cornfields, and we stop briefly so that Iona can take photos of a field of sunflowers.

Before long, we are back home again; sandy, sleepy, smiling and satisfied after yet another lovely day ...

Tip: Create happy memories now! Share them!

Soothed by the Sea ...

The sea was bright turquoise and topped in the purest white, sparkling in the sun.

A chilly wind blew white blobs, like shaving foam, across the crests of the waves.

I stood gazing out across the ocean, as far as I could see.

After a while, I felt a sense of peace replacing the anguish.

I shoved my hands deep down into my pockets and grasped my pieces of crystal security blanket, turned and walked away, with a hint of a spring in my step; restored by nature once again...

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me),

It's always our self we find in the sea.

e.e. cummings

Why do we love the sea?

It is because it has some potent power to make us think things we like to think.

Robert Henri