Life, crafty stuff, long walks, thoughts, and little oddities.


Night-time Symphony

Snuggled down under the duvet, I drift on a blanket of sound. Listening to the world around me as it settles into its nights sleep. A creak of a floorboard, relaxing after the pressures of the day. The clock in the bathroom ticks noisily. The hot water gurgles quietly in the pipes, and the radiators click with heat. A clatter as a bird lands on the roof – probably a seagull roosting on the chimney pot again. A gentle patter as the rain is blown on to the windows. The wind whistles round the house, buffeting the building. Even here, at the back of the house, the waves are audible as they rush in, pounding against the seawall. A boom more felt than heard. A constant accompaniment through today’s storm. I  welcome the familiar symphony. Aware that tomorrow I journey on again, heading north. Bags packed and ready to go, waiting impatiently in the corner of the room. Warm and cosy, hot water bottle at my feet. Lulled to sleep by the sound of the sea.


NB I’m off up north for a few days, wind and weather permitting, so a break from blogging for a wee while. No wifi or web-access where I’m going, so forgive me if I don’t respond to any comments straight away 🙂


Laughing gulls

The gulls are having a wonderful time today. Sailing high above the waves, racing them into shore. Wings outstretched, supported by the thermals. Rising and diving. Hanging suspended on the wind, poised in the air, ready to plunge into the ocean. They seem to laugh at me as I pass, two legs hard at work. Fighting against the current. Why don’t you spread your wings, they say, and join us on our journey?




Scallop shells

Walk along the beach.

Tide riding into shore on the wind.

Waves playing.

The shingle rumbles.

Sand crunches.

Such activity.

There, lying tumbled,

A scallop shell lies.

Orange white, firm ridges.

The pilgrim shell of long ago.

Cradle it in your hands.


This time is pilgrimage.

Like the traveler of old

Headed to a strange place

Savour the journey.

Value each step.

Be in this place

Listen to the song of the journey

Step into lands unknown.

scallop shell


Winter’s grey and brave flowers

In winter’s grey, the sun shone out. Braving the ice and the snow, out peeped a tiny face. Looking rather careworn and weary, but still smiling. White petals unfurled to catch the slightest breath of warmth. Yellow centre turned towards the light, chasing every ray. The bravery of a small flower on a cold day.

winter daisy


Cold dawns and fresh awakening

A cold morning today. Diamond frost scintillates in the low light. Breath billowing out in clouds. Chill in the air. But a beautiful dawning. Gentle rush of the waves,and cry of a gull. Colours enhanced in the clear air. Snowy headlands merge into blushing sea. A fresh awakening.

blushing sea



White duvet and frosty shells


Night dark gives way to morning bright. The hills are still tucked up under their white duvet, dawn-pink sky rising behind them. My footsteps crunch on the iced snow, biting deep into the topmost layer. Down on the shore, the rocks are dusted with icing. And there, tucked in-between, lie shells, rimed with the frost.


Wind-blown galaxies and orange snow

Driving out into the darkness. The road is carpeted with a fresh blanket of snow. Falling as we travel. Drifts start to form at the side of the road. The white surrounds us, wind-blown towards the car. In the headlights, the snow spins giddyingly round. Bright stars against black night. New unexplored galaxies form as we watch. We creep onwards down the lane, towards the distant lights of the Port. Along the sea-front, the flakes blurring the street-lamps. The orange glow reflects from the surface. The car engine is stilled. Silence falls with the snow.


orange snow


Winter’s Song

Flakes of snow blown on the wind brush my cheeks. I seem to be the only one mad enough to step out. The sea is low today, exposing an unexplored stretch of sand. I wend my way out to it, tiptoeing through shallow rockpools and slippery seaweed. Newly washed sand, arc after arc bending round the bay, with only the prints of birds on it. Out to the edge, where water meets land, poised on the boundary. On the cusp of the tide, the waves lap at my boots, gently caressing them. I stand and stare and breathe a while, drinking in the peace. Taking in the the music of this place. Then, tracing my solitary footprints, I head for home, winter’s song singing in my ears.



Stubby snowmen and vanishing snow

The snow has almost vanished. A stub of a snowman is left behind, twig arms sticking proudly out. Its nose has been eaten in the night, and one of its eyes has disappeared. A sprinkle of white remains in the hidden dips of the path. Sparkling bright in the sunlight. The hills are greening again, and the sky blue above. It would have been easy, yesterday, to have stayed inside, in the warmth. To have clung to the security, to the knowledge that outside the world was swirling. Seemingly cold and inhospitable in its winter’s dance. I am learning again that the day is there to be grabbed and enjoyed, for it will not return to its current time and space. Tomorrow will be a different world.

stubby snowman

NB This is the midget snowman pre-melting and consumption by beasties unknown!


January Muse

There is a curious delight

To be found

In January days

When the wind whistles round the house

Whipping the snow into a frenzy

You can stay inside

Toasting by the log fire

Watching the flakes whirl down

Or pile on hat and gloves

Pull on boots and thermals

Go out into the storm

Count snowflakes

Catch them on the palm of your hand

Stick out your tongue and hope

That one will land, ice cold,

On the tip.

Make tracks in virgin ground

Or spread-eagled angels

Build a snowman

Or hollow out a  lantern

Place a tea-light in it

And retreat inside

To admire the glow

Warming your smile

On a curiously delightful

January day.