Flying Free
A boy sits on the pavement near the entrance to the pier. He clutches a length of twine, to which is tethered a pink balloon, whipping, cracking in the wind. His parents stand next to him.
Always Here
Sparse grey hair, weathered skin, stained baggy trousers. His big toe pokes out of his right shoe, the left is split along the outer edge, the heel missing.
Neighbours
It’s cold, and the rain’s set in, but at least the promenade’s quiet, and the shelter should be empty. I don’t bother anyone, don’t want anyone bothering me.
On A Winter Beach
Scouring, wind whipping sand, stinging eyes, nose, mouth. Grey churning sea. Deafening.
View Through A Train Window
The train slows; passing three yellow balls in the scrub by the trackside, two close together, the other some distance apart, a chance arrangement he seems intensely curious about.
Winter Path
I never understood why he wanted to take that picture, it was so familiar; where a gate once stood, a chalk path leading across an open field.
Stepping Out
Through this train window I see bare winter fields; horses, houses, deserted stations, tracks and pathway; a green fence disappearing into water logged ground.
Tracks
…unsettled…We’ve got some more showery days to come first though, with further thundery downpours possible…