The mist over the lake rises with the sun this morning. Herald of a hot day. The flowers trumpet the warmth of spring. Buttercups open to the light, glowing golden. A butterfly briefly rests on the grass, wings outspread. The reed beds are full of birdsong, a celebration of life. Mountains rise to cloudless blue sky, and a meadow pipit spirals up to join them.
An incy wincy spider day. Sun, rain, sun, rain. The drumming on the roof accompanies the click of my knitting needles. Raindrops trace their way down the windows. Trickle of water down the drainspout. Then out comes the sun, to dry up all the rain. Spying a brief window in the weather, I don waterproofs and head outside. The water is winning, puddles filling. streams bubbling their way down the road. The mountains are shrouded in mist, only the closest visible. I squelch my way along the path by the lake, pools welling up in my footprints. The first spots of the oncoming shower land on my raincoat, and I head back. Time for me, like the spider, to dry out.
For those who don’t know, Incy Wincy Spider is a children’s nursery rhyme. You can find the words here
The Great Orme lies basking in the sunshine today. Blue skies reach far into the heavens. We sit overlooking the bay, perched on a convenient rock. A perfect vantage point for the airshow. The lifeboat chugs out into the sea below. A dull throbbing gets louder and louder until, round the Orme’s head, the rescue helicopter appears. Circling, retrieving, lowering, circling again. Under the hovering vanes, the water ripples outwards, driven by the downdraft. Practice. Perfect. A break now. We lean back against sun-warmed stones, feel the heat on our faces, munch on the sandwiches, and switch off. A Spitfire and Hurrricane perform acrobatics above, dizzying loops, spins and flips. Then the finale. Out they jump, in strict formation. Canopies open, red, white, blue, against the sky. Spiraling down and round, patterns in the air. Perfectly timed, they come to land on the beach. A round of applause. Then homeward bound. An evening spent on the patio. Laughter. Joy. Memories. Photos. An angel appears – can you see it?
NB: A wonderful day watching the air display, the highlight of which was the display by the Falcons, the RAF parachute display team
Driven along ribbons of grey, slate roofs of houses flashing by. Spring green paints the fields, sunshine yellow in full bloom by the roadside. In the distance, between the layered hills, cerulean sky is reflected in sea. Here by the coast lies the rainbow land. Bolts of brightness in serried ranks, waiting to be caressed by tired winter eyes. Glowing satins and silks, matt cottons and linen. I drink in the feast of colour, and plot and plan, and dream.
Back in Wales for a week or so… this was taken at a wonderful fabric shop called Abakhan, at it’s North Wales branch.
The gale hit last night. Rattling doors and windows, whistling through cracks. Furious winds whipping waves up into a frenzy. Yet by dawn blue skies had appeared, clouds blowing onwards to the east. My morning stroll brought the sight of bladder-wrack and kelp piled high, debris churned up from the ocean floor. Rockpools muddied and sullied by sand. Tangled on the shoreline a few unfortunate fish lay, victims of the storm. Yet on top of the seaweed a fragile white globe lay, cradled gently. A fragile sea potato shell had somehow ridden in on the waves, coming to rest intact. Strength in the storm.
NB – a sea potato is a type of sea urchin – Echinocardium cordatum. Their shells are incredibly fragile and it’s quite rare to find one intact. For a closer look, check out this post by Inish Boffin Crafts
A bright sunshine-filled dawn this morning. Washing flapps on the line in the warmth. Blue skies reflected in sea. Beautiful. Sitting in the window, I watch as the rising wind whips the waves. Froth topped, riding into the shore. Beyond, the Mull slowly disappears under a bank of dark cloud. Shafts of rain highlighted against the sunshine. Then it arrives. An abrupt squall leads from rain into hailstones, bouncing off cars and pavements. The wind blows and onwards it moves, leaving behind soggy washing on the line, and mud-stirred water in the bay. Out came the sun. And so the cycle begins. This evening a walk is snatched between showers. Balanced against the breeze, I head towards the beach. Puddle-dodging along the way. Hail-spattered sand greets me, like the tracks of a strange creature. The waves are still riding high. And across the bay, another black mass approaches. Turning for home, the rainbow greets me. A fitting end to a rainbow day.
Sand crunches quietly under my feet. The sea ripples in the distance. The world seems subdued under a layer of thin drizzle. Rockstrewn strand is covered with bladderwrack. The colours are muted today. A flash of white catches my eye. An unexpected movement where there was stillness. I look more closely. Nothing. Focus in closer. Another flicker. There. Can you see it? Watching?
Camouflaged against the rocks, the heron stands. Motionless. Studying the water. A twig snaps under my feet. Instantly he is alert. Head raised. I freeze. Hardly breathing. In two minds, he spreads his wings. A moment of decision. He tucks them back behind him, hunching over to stare again at the sea. Slowly I let out my breath. We return to our watch.