Our new columnist, Cassandra Gardiner returns with this week’s offering. Guest opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of the publication. Ed
Most mornings I head down to the promenade and walk watching the sea.
Last week instead of sandbanks or a high tide, a battlefield stretched out until it was closed off by the greyness of the sinking sky merging with the water. Hidden by the heavy unclear air, Portsmouth’s landmarks no longer edged the Solent.
So striking and different, like a painting that stops the viewer and demands attention, I was captivated.
A deluge of debris
Randomly, the beach was strewn with dark clumps of seaweed and debris. It was a strange view, the flattened thick sea blurring with the damp air, in a soft light distorting the tale of what had happened over night.
In the summer months, Ryde beach blazes with golden sand, sharp blues and white fringed waves lapping at the shoreline.
On a hot day there is a youthful spread of colour, pinks, yellows, blues, reds, swimsuits and towels mark the haven, as bathers soak up the sun, play and dip into the cooling water. Dancing with light the sun glows and relaxed by the warmth people rest, read, peel off clothing, while kids scream and run with delight. Leisure and an occasional tantrum are absorbed into daily life. Alive with sound the beach entertains like a daytime disco.
Fresh chaos
The scene now is cold and mature, rich browns and gritty greys speak of a natural rawness.
Fresh chaos, the pungent smell of exposed seaweed and salt in the air, as sand blows scratching across the shingle. Dog walkers dot the open expanse, their pets excited by the left-overs comb the murk driven by scent.
Returning home I wonder about what I saw.
Mysterious and transient it will be gone tomorrow.
To read more of Cassandra Gardiner‘s work, visit her blog.
Image: © Jane
