iggandfriends

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


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Wet rain and a soggy dog

A wet day. Rain drips down from the clouds, a seemingly endless supply. Clear skies over the mountains hint at better things to come. But the damp dawn sulks its way into mid-morning. The dog is waiting for her walk. Across the playing field we go. A boring green expanse becomes an exciting playground. Full of different sounds and smells. Tail wagging, ears twitching. Head turns at my call. Back on the lead to turn down the hill. Pavements, it seems, have an endless fascination. ‘I wonder who passed by there?’ – You can almost see the thought. Round the steep bit and on to the old mill. A brief stop at the paper-shop to buy the newspaper. A patient dog waits outside, greeting the passers-by. Then onwards, along by the side of the stream. Splashing in the puddles. Up through the old orchard. She covers twice the distance , bounding about. A slow progress along the road, then back through the playing field. Pausing to chase the ball. Returning to base, we sit by the heater in the summer-house, drying out. I check emails. She tries to read them. Then, bored, she falls to sleep across my toes. A successful morning.

P1080295

NB For those who are wondering – no, I haven’t acquired a dog! Back in North Wales for a month, house and dog-sitting for friends while they visit Australia.

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Mist and seagulls

I wake to stars still shining above me. Night blue sky gradually lightens with the coming dawn. The tide-line is invisible, hidden by a sea of mist. The headlands seems layered behind each other, timidly peeking out from foggy skirts. Trails of low cloud dance around me. I scramble across rocks damp from the sea-haar, avoiding the bright-green seaweed that tangles underfoot. The world is fast disappearing under the blanket of white. Walking through the edge of the incoming waves, I am surrounded by muffled sounds. A seagull launches himself into the sky, disappearing into obscurity. Slowly the sun shines through, brightening the gloom. The veil lifts – light is revealed.

misty port wiliam

N.B Haar is a word used for sea mist or sea fog. It’s used in the midlands and north of England and in Scotland.


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Bemused cows and serene gulls

muddied stream

While the sun shines, I break free from the house. After a night of rain, the street is washed clean, puddles lying at the edges. The grass on the verges squelches under my feet, mud oozing over my boots. I stroll along the road, idly watching the world pass by. The drainage ditch is overflowing. A new pond has formed in the field over the stone wall. The sea-birds seem to have migrated over from the seashore. I stand and watch as the oyster-catchers paddle in the edge, and the curlews peck at the soil.  The gulls float serenely on the pool. The cows seem a little bemused by their company, stood staring from the edges of the field. They seem to be having a soggy time, green shoots muddied by their feet. The stream churns through the field, stirring up the mud on its way to the sea.

 

 


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High winds and bubbles

cappucino foam

High tide and gales last night. Doors and windows rattled, and the whole house shook with the power of the sea hitting the seawall.  This morning the windows are coated with salt spray, blurring the edges of the world. Brilliant sunshine shines over the bay, highlighting the wave tops as they gallop shore-wards. We walk balanced on the edge of the wind. Even as we approach the strand, the tempest continues to whip the water, creating a bubbling mass. On the beach, a cappuccino has been washed up. Masses of coffee-coloured foam covers the sand. With the gusts, it rises and swells, jelly-like on the shore. I step in and sink into the softness, walking through a bubble bath. My boots disappear beneath the suds. Laughter peels across the beach, carried home on the breeze.

foamy boots