I've sort of mostly lived near the sea, close but never this close. I get twitchy now if I don't see it, even a glimpse. When we first moved here I vowed and imagined I would walk the beach every day.
Of course there have been periods when it has been taken for granted and days do drift by without my fix. That is not the case now this minute or of late for I can't get enough of it. The recent storms also meant it was nearer - wind direction, wave height, land slips, beach cargo booty and flotsam have kept it news worthy and close to mind.
Rivers are my arena for quiet contemplation, but I find the beach has taken over. Taken over for the time being and certainly where I find myself more often than not for contemplative recreation. I am there like a piece of driftwood and over the last few weeks miss it like mad and when I do visit I return home with pockets full of items that are hard to leave on the foreshore. I think I bring them back to keep the connection live and they help on days that I cannot hear the crunch of shingle beneath my feet.
It won't be long now - change is afoot. I can hear it in the skylarks call as it rises and falls above the clifftop meadows. Won't be long until the first mackerel arrive and we can angle for our supper to be cooked over a driftwood fire.
For now though I am content with the quiet trundle of calmer waves with the sun on my face, but there is still just enough of a nip in the air to warrant another mug of beef tea and contemplate times past and those who won't be here when the mackerel arrive.