Saturday, November 14

Blow you Bugger Blow

Early breakfast at Avon Beach, Mudeford.

The short walk from the clifftop parking spot down to the café is accompanied by a steadily hazing of vision as my spectacles slowly coat with a mixture of sea spray, salt and sand. All whipping onto the land as the wind leaves off pushing surf up onto the shoreline, and turns to other games to play instead.

A group of Oyster catchers, seemingly oblivious to the elemental force, busily bob along the tidal sand, looking for their breakfast. At times one takes to the air, making only a short distance, before quickly returning to earth. The desire for flight lessened today by the effort required to maintain it.

Warm inside the café we watch as the birds continue their hunt for tide borne bonanza. The fry up arrives.

Dog and myself for once alone at this usually busy spot. We wander along the ridge that of St Catherine's Hill, Christchurch.

As we pass by the twin mobile telephone masts the steady thrum of a plane is heard as it passes overhead. I pause to watch the sway of the thinner tower, rock embedded at the foot, but the upper section flexing as it bends so easily to wind whim.

The plane continues to fly overhead. What still?

I realise it’s the sound of the wind resonating the mast struts of the towers, with an irregular drumming as gusts bounce off some of the bulbous equipment bolted high above.

A personal orchestral offering - courtesy of Mother Nature and BT.

I love the change of perspective that the natural world can bring out in the everyday world.


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