6.30 am.
there is “a pattern; that we —…are connected with this; that the whole world is a work of art; that we are parts of the work of art … we are the words; we are the music; we are the thing itself.”
Virginia Woolf.
Tonight’s sky. Just breathtaking.
A NWesterly with a wind chill of -6°. A Lenten moon as it is before the equinox so is the last full moon of winter. Also called Worm Moon, similar to this current Japanese micro season. A time when beetle larvae begin to emerge from the thawing bark of trees and other winter hideouts.
A Merveilles meet-up with a difference:
If there are any experienced sailors here who'd like to sail with us from the UK to the Med in late May/early June, this year, let me know — three berths available, no costs aboard, just take care of your own travel.
line of least resistance
split / imprint
rainfall / tide
#boat #abandoned
“A cold coming we had of it…the ways deep and the weather sharp.” The almost-full moon visible briefly before swallowed by cloud. Here we are at nightfall under the pink blush of twilight, the air sharp, the sky full of dreams taking my breath away.
Transience. Mornings lighter. Sky hanging heavy grey, threatening more rain. Cold, a light Easterly but no windchill. Tide out, white surf on the northern side of the breakwater but the other, Fish Sands & the Sandwell Gate, emanates a languid calm. Gulls fly low, floating steady.
Another Saturday has passed by. Last walk of the day taken, now home in the warm. Time to turn off the phone, dim the lights, pour the wine and immerse myself in sand, sea, sunshine as I catch up on Death in Paradise.
A few moments before the day begins. Coffee brewed. Off for a brief visit to the Copper Mountains and a Wolf’s Tale.
Sometimes there is only sky with clouds scudding across the bright pinprick of stars as the wind’s careless rapture blusters. Wintry shadows weaving thin dreams. I strain to watch, to keep the currents even, but fail to catch the wind between my teeth and so I let it go.
https://t.co/kyee2IPy8w
laine thompson on Twitter
“Sometimes there is only sky with clouds scudding across the bright pinprick of stars as the wind’s careless rapture blusters. Wintry shadows weaving thin dreams. I strain to watch, to keep the currents even, but fail to catch the wind between my teeth and so I let it go.”
wrack
Murdo Eason