Coast
We are drawn to the coast
{an extract from ‘Tides and Tiles’, the forthcoming ‘tale’ of our wintering retreat to Portugal, the opening chapter of a more nomadic life}
“We are drawn - inexorably, inevitably - to the coast, where the land meets the sea.
Never ‘beach people’ in a ‘throw down your towel and soak up the sun’ kind of way; we are, nonetheless, lured by the throaty roar of the waves as they rumble towards the rocks. We stand spellbound as the wild Atlantic has its way with the cliffs of western Portugal. No slippery rocks; no seaweed strewn beach; not for this coastline a harvest of sea creatures and growth to forage. The raw power of the sea has scrubbed the rocks clean. That same power has lifted branches and scattered them on the beach like matchsticks. The geology reflects the passing of ages ... but the rocks have given in to the eroding strength of wave after roaring wave.
The sea mist swirls, indistinguishable from the spray whipped off the 8 foot waves rolling in to deliver a frothing foaming offering to the beach; footprints in the sand are our momentarily defiant gesture to the mighty ocean that we belong here ... before we scurry along to beat the tide.
The strength of the sea and the raw beauty of the coastline is restorative; succour to our souls. The beach is our kind of beach. Deserted. Exposed. At the mercy of the elements; shaped by them. ”
