The continuous stream of intentional winds have loosened the largely taut ropes of the masts. A series of clunks where rope hits the metallic cylinders of the unused boats can be heard and temporarily blinds the ears. Though all these boats, parked and slightly sunken into the shingle and mud, couldn’t possible know of each other’s existence the multitude of knocks do not seem to overlap. It sounds like an oversized wind chime. Less decorative and melodic, more industrial and dull. The wind is too strong to even hint an echo or a sustained note. I hear other sounds from the boatyard. Out of sight. I imagine buoys and large hooks riddled with rust, chains, damp wooden panels, metal buckets, usable saws with teeth missing and bolts, discarded and dusty rolls of sandpaper and hammers.
*
I walk past the remaining building before the winding path sits between river and fields, looking across into a suggestion of woodland. Broken red and white tape, tied to a post but flailing in the wind naturally (or I suppose unnaturally) attracts my attention. It moves out of its control as if a victor is continually crossing the line of a race. It appears to cross my path but I pass with no affliction.
*
My takeaway mocha whistles in the wind. I take a sip and realise it has become a lot colder than I thought, but it still warms my fingertips poking out of my fingerless gloves. I cover the sipping hole in the coffee lid to stop the passing sound. I think it may attract the dogs walking ahead of me. Though I don’t consider myself to be scared of dogs anymore I don’t want their attention, and little yappy dogs like those in sight are the worst. The dog owner calmly stops. Looks out across the water back to the historic and mildly interesting Tide Mill. Then turns to walk back the way she came. The dogs now come past me. One seems to not know I am there, too interested in the grassy mud and a scent only it could sniff in this wind. I say “Hi” to the woman. I have realised that everyone who walks by the river says “hello” or “good morning” to one another as they pass. Whenever I respond or start this brief interaction I get a smile to say “well isn’t he a polite young man”, as if the older generation still don’t expect young people to acknowledge them. This lady’s second dog who sticks by her looks at me with playful though serious interest as I walk past. I can’t help but stare into those black shiny eyes and smile as if I have passed another human. I am secretly glad it didn’t bark or jump around at me.
*
I swear a bird laughed at me from the bushes. I said quietly to myself after jokingly scoffing, “well. How rude!” and slightly giggled to myself.
*
The wind is right in my face and I decide to attempt to put both my hoods up; hoodie and coat. My hands are both occupied one with coffee the other holding my mini rucksack on my shoulder. It keeps slipping off because of the amount of layers I am wearing. But still I take my hand off the shoulder strap and pull at my hoodie hood, tucked slightly under my rucksack, it releases with ease. As I put up my coat hood the bag slips down to my elbow with a jolt, coffee gets flung up through the sipping hole and onto my coat sleeve as well as making a little puddle in the indent of the lid. It instantly goes cold as I get my lips around it.
*
I go down a few steps disjointed by the landscape around it and sit on a bench. My bench. It looks out across the river as it bends so you get this broad view of water. Across the other side there is a white house and I imagine that someone living there is looking out of their window and can somehow see me, thinking or saying to themselves, “he’s back again”, in a comfortably familiar tone. The tide is low and the little islands just off the main path are clear and dark. Silhouettes with form. I don’t remember them being so high off the ground. Even though it looks mostly like mud and almost black on this cloudy, light stricken day, there is still a surprising amount of detail in those lumps when you really look. Layers of natural matter I couldn’t name and little prints from animals and displaced stones, the odd autumnal leaf lifted by wind stuck by mud, smaller flickerings of details, none audible over the wind.
*
A bird flies past low making a series of single notes in a regular sequence followed by a sustained vibrato sound as it crosses in front of me. I think “show-off”. You could clearly see its curved beak against the backdrop of the water. Quickly after but slightly further back a goose silently flies past, for a moment it is lifted up by the wind against its chest.
*
I look at the water as it is gently but rapidly pushed by the wind. I think how mesmerising it is and how the repeated patterns and lines look regular and coherent but must in reality be completely individual. I get to the end of my coffee which is now more chocolate than anything else. It is sickeningly sweet and a little cold as I swill it around my mouth.
*
I have curved my double hood around the left-hand side of my face. The wind is truly harsh against my skin and I soon get back up to head in the direction I came. The wind is now seemingly hitting every part of my face at the same time. It comes at me as a never-ending block. It doesn’t feel like it stops once it reaches my most human of features. It is briefly slowed by the inconvenience of hitting my face and carries on straight through me. Part of my cheek is so incredibly cold. I touch it and it almost feels moist and slippery like ice.
*
I see a couple in the distance near the train tracks or gates leading to them dispersing a hay bail for close by cows. There figures are mostly obscured by coats though I still think they must be cold. It is their life I suppose. Even though I could see a tractor and trailer which they had clearly used to transport the hay it seemed strangely like a scene from a time gone by. A simpler time as is said. A time that seems anachronistic in a backward sort of way.
*
I walk past another dog owner. A couple with a single black dog who moves to one side and stops as I pass. A dog in training I think. The man says “good morning”, I just say “thanks” because I don’t realise the time. I thought it must be later than 12pm and he is just politely wrong. The man gave me a frozen smile with the intention of being warm and his grey moustache lifted with it. It was a great moustache. The woman who as ever in this situation is presumed to be the wife did not look at me and was either too cold or too middle class to move her face, instead looking pointed as if the world was continually against her.
*
I see a bin to put my takeaway cup in and think with this wind is it very possible that as I put the cup in it will just fling out uncontrollably. As I approach I see there is no bin bag but think well that doesn’t stop it from being a bin. I see other rubbish as I place mine there and am instantly reassured I am not causing an inconvenience.
*
I walk past a puddle which is moving wildly in the wind. The changes in direction of the ripples instantly make me think of starlings when they move altogether in a cloud, darting this way and that making these beautiful smooth shapes, a contrast in image to their speed. The puddle is a contained version of this. Nature reflecting nature. Contained association.
Grey Cloud Blue Sea 