out in the sun

Warmer today, with just a hint of some springlike in the air – but we won’t hold our breath quite yet. Folks sitting out, doing a spot of sketching by  Marine Court  . . . . but further along  not a sign of tables and chairs set up outside  The Post Office Tea Room   . . .

. . . the terrace of The Azur is too exposed for taking a drink out there but below, hardy sailors think it’s time to do a bit of refurb to their dingies. It’s much more sheltered down on the path directly at beach level and thanks to Sidney Little and his interest in reinforced concrete structures, we can enjoy recessed seating alcoves, below the promenade, facing due south.

A couple of dog walkers – dogs can be on certain parts of the beach in winter – and the more usual inhabitants.

Still a ‘big’ sea, noisy, frothy and turbulent. A selfish post for me to look back on – one day – and I know it’s the heart of winter as against the second line Neruda’s verse, but the birds are pairing up which signifies the start of a new season.

The morning is full of storm
in the heart of summer.

The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of goodbye,
the wind, traveling, waving them in its hands.

The numberless heart of the wind
beating above our loving silence.

Orchestral and divine, resounding among the trees
like a language full of wars and songs.

Wind that bears off the dead leaves with a quick raid
and deflects the pulsing arrows of the birds.

Wind that topples her in a wave without spray
and substance without weight, and leaning fires.

Her mass of kisses breaks and sinks,
assailed in the door of the summer’s wind. Pablo Neruda   The Morning Is Full