It’s been a mixed day weather-wise. Powerful south-westerly gusts, soon accompanied by driving rain, the island a monochrome grey.
On my return walk from the shop, I looked across as I always do, towards Gweal Hill, Scilly Rock and the Atlantic rolling into Popplestones. Great waves were racing like steam engines. The spray being blown back by the wind looked like the steam from the engines as they tore through the sea. Down at the Bar the sand had been driven into its winter lunar landscape.
sand sculpted by wind
When I reached the brow of the hill the wind pummelled my flesh and squeezed the air from my lungs. It was a job just to keep walking.
However, on the farm work was still to be done, so the “A” team set to the task of constructing the new strawberry beds.
Banging in stakes into the mud
I enjoyed the morning work, using muscle and bone and that niggling energy that tickles below the skin. The mud is clawing, sucking, dirty but fun.
After lunch it would have be tempting to stay inside. The chimney moans, the wind howls and once I’ve lit the fire it crackles, pops and hisses. The orange glow a fierce but comforting friend. I burn old, dry rosemary and the sweet smokey smell drifts through the room.
This is going to feel good after my swim
The house feels heavy, safe and warm. But as the afternoon slides on towards evening, the wind eases, the rain abated and the sea beckons.
When I reach Quay the light is dim, the sea a thick grey-green soup of churned up silt. But it is smooth, calm, a lull in the storm’s energy. It’s a pleasure to dive into.
Taking the plunge
The visability is zero and I swim blindly up and down the bay, parallel to the shore. My body enjoying the cool stretching, my mind enjoying the peace. I can now return to the fire, except the lull in my energy, except warmth, comfort, sleep and wait for the wild weather forecast for tonight.