Beach Wind
by Dan Keeble
For the first
time since Christmas, the pavements began to
clear of heavy snow. Larger numbers than normal
for a Sunday appeared on Lawley Island wrapped
tightly against the cold.
The common
purpose - to escape the over-eating, stress of
visitors, but mostly, the stuffy central heating
the festive season made them endure. Harsh
weather imprisoned them in their homes for weeks,
and now they could escape.
A curving
panorama of pastel painted beach huts to the
caravan park hid the view of the road. A
young man lowered himself slightly to photograph
them. Each freshly painted hut picked out clear
white framing of the bright balconies.
Highlighted by the dark grey sky behind them, he
was capturing the typical idyllic travel brochure
image.
Stones
crunched underfoot on the way down to the sand.
Walkers would
be going home cold, but invigorated by the sharp
air. Couples smiled at fellow escapees
greeting each other. Women put aside fashion in
favour of warmth and comfort, and buried into
their partners as they hurried along the beach.
The chatter between dogs and fellow walkers,
deprived of contact for a month, was animated.
The tide was
out and the low light picked out the rippled mud
beyond the sand. Silver-brushed waves ran
swiftly parallel to the beach, racing against two
toddlers wrapped in brightly coloured arctic-style
suits on the sand.
Even in the
cold, the smell of seaweed was on the wind - a
welcome fragrance after recent cooking.
The gathering
on the beach was reminiscent of a summer day,
except the weather didn’t allow for dawdling.
Coats, buttoned high. Hats on bowed heads were
held by their brims, when walking back against
the force.
A few seagulls
hung on the wind, objecting loudly to the mass
invasion. Dogs responded, suggesting that they
should try being cooped up for weeks. The
sharp sound of tight lines slapping against metal
masts nearby threaded through the wind.
Children,
removed from the intensity of electronic activity,
reverted to naturally calming pursuits; throwing
stones out to sea, running with dogs, and
comparing sizes and lustre of the oyster shells
they found.
Nature had
provided the perfect conditions to support the
desperate needs of this mass exodus. And if an
old man chose to fart alone finally, he would be
content with knowing that the strong North
Easterly gusts would oblige him by masking both
volume and bouquet.
Ah, such
liberation.
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