I dream of far flung places; wide sandy beaches, lofty mountain peaks and deep cut fjords. Most of the time though, I’ve got to search out my nature time on a smaller scale, closer to home.
The wind is currently from the north, bringing the first real cold of the year. Dusk and dawn walks feel so close together at this time of year, everything closing in.
In the morning, we wandered the park. The dog chased sticks, eyes towards the ground as I looked up to the first light on the leaves. The trees feel busy, readying themselves for the months ahead, the remaining green broadleaves scrabbling to create the last of the food for the year.
A few hours later, abandoned by wife and dog, I walked the seafront alone. The wind had picked up, increasing the chill. In combination with the crashing of the waves on the sea wall, barely any other sound was audible, a strange natural tinnitus.
I lay on the beach, watching the waves peak and crash, quiet for a few moments, content that the trees and the water are always close to hand.