Christmas

Out of the blue - certainly out of a cold steely blue sky - I have been ill. It came on gradually, over the space of a couple of hours, until I sat shivering and aching and feeling very sorry for myself. I have slept a lot over the last couple of days and am past the worst. I have lost my voice - but who do I talk to anyway? - and it has left me weak and tired but mercifully I have all that I need here for my physical comfort. I shall neither starve nor freeze.

In fact, I have so much fuel that I could spare a forked branch of silver smooth driftwood and set it up in the corner. This morning I have tied strings of shells, pebbles and sea glass and hung then upon my "tree". In front, I have set a large church candle to light my creation as the light fades this afternoon.

I have a bottle here. I have re-corked and sealed it with wax. Inside is a message:

To Whoever finds this,

I hope that this finds you well and happy at
Christmas and that you will have a time of
peace and comfort. May the New Year bring
you only good things and the contentment
that you have been wanting.

With Love from
The Beachcomber

I will now take the bottle to the water's edge and cast it far into the waves.

Tied & Teased

Walking along the beach, feeling and hearing the crunch of shingle beneath my feet and letting my mind wander.

"Tied"

"Teased"

"Wet"

Smiling, walking and happily hard in the frosty sun

Unspeakably Wonderful

The day is unspeakably wonderful: blue skied and intricately white crisped and even the pebbles on the beach are frozen into a wide lacy bedspread.

I am poorly and spend my days by the stove, drinking tea, reading from a musty, broken-spined, leather bound book and, from time to time, taking up my old tin whistle and playing a lament for aching limbs and runny nose.

Even so, I cannot resist the lure of such a perfect morning and so I strip on the doorstep and walk out onto the frozen beach, spreading my arms to greet the brilliant sun for a moment t and then, laughing until I cough, I nip back into the warm room, dress quickly and put the kettle on again.

One of those times

I am having one of those times. It is one of those "What the fuck am I doing with my life?" times when my happiness proves to be bubble thin and simply bursts, leaving me exposed and, when I look inside myself and weigh myself in the balance, I am found wanting. I must not waste what I have.

I think that I am going stir-crazy here. I crunch across the frozen beach to break ice and collect water from the stream and so at least the kettle whistles contentedly on the stove. I try to find warming books to read: summer tales and stories of found happiness and human kindness. I think that I am searching for a happy ending.

It warms me so to see friends starting to find their own happiness but my pleasure is tinged with a little sadness when I start to cast over the days ahead of me and I know that nothing is likely to change.

There is peace to be found in this place. The stove warms me and I have good supplies of comforting wintry food. I can draw closer to the heat, wrap a blanket around me and dream of a life that is not mine.

One thought does emerge from my meditations; I will not waste what I have.

I think that I might surprise people.

Ceremonies

There is a bitter wind across the beach this morning and there are ceremonies that I had been putting off which I have had to perform. I swept the rough wooden boards and smiled at the memory of the contrast your pale smooth skin against them. Then I unrolled the old, much mended kelim in front of the stove and the room was filled with the aroma of the caravanserai.

I sat on the step, a brimming steaming mug of tea at hand, and honed the edge of my axe until it was keen and then, throwing my coat aside, cut and split wood, enjoying my strength as I swung the heavy axe hard and with ease. The pieces were carried inside in a basket made from the willow that hangs over the stream that reaches the sea some twenty minutes walk from here.

Now I sit cross-legged on the rug and feed wood into the stove and enjoy fresh tea. I have been thinking about love, recognising that I am a loving man, but one who seldom, if ever, feels love. I am armoured against amour as surely as the strong walls keeps out the chill wind and have been since my childhood when I knew the tearing pain of loss for the first time and started to wall my feelings in.

I am enjoying being able to take the time to observe. I stare at the texture of a pebble and count stars; I hold a smooth pink shell to my lips and then peer closely into it, as I looked into widened, excited eyes as I slapped hard between widely spread thighs... over and over again.

Warmth

Sometimes one needs to take positive action.

I have been working on the cabin, defending it against the wild winter winds and waves. The roof is sound and the gaps around the winter sealed. An old wood burning stove has been dragged across the shingle (and what a job that was) and connected to the old flue. A large pile of driftwood is drying to keep me warm during the bitterest and coldest days.

Inside, I have made a bookcase from old timber and filled it with old friendly volumes, fossils & minerals and the small number of odds & ends rescued from my childhood home.

I will be content here; snug by the stove yet free to burst through the door, run through the rain and plunge, naked, into the waves.

Strength

I need the strength and power of the waves I watched yesterday to wash me clean and awaken me:


I'm not sure I am ready for what I have to do but I will do it.