It’s one of those magical mornings,
With reluctance I wash the sea air
The sky begins to pale
over the black landscape
that is hidden from my eye.
The train rumbling through the countryside
doesn’t give it a second thought
and the passengers are silent
eyes closed or staring at screens.
In the passing towns, lights twinkle
and the shapes of roofs are visible.
Deserted stations lie, frost
on the platforms, doors slide open
to admit the lone traveller.
The sun rises somewhere in the distance
unseen from the train.
It’s a long climb up the hill to the spot and he wonders, yet again, why they bother. It’s windy and exposed, and there’s no chance in hell that they’re going to be able to get a fire going. And yet, here they are, once again, same as they are every year, climbing up this wretched hill in the dark to celebrate something and he’s not even sure why anymore.
It’s hard to believe that it’s time to go
that this time tomorrow it will all
feel like a dream
that I can’t quite remember.
Now, this reality seems more
than anything else – the rest of the world
doesn’t quite exist
out the corner of my eye.
For me, the river, the boats
the narrow streets and the dreamers charm
seem more real
than anything else in this world –
and elsewhere might as well
not quite exist anymore.
“Sorry! I don’t want any adventures, thank you. Not Today. Good morning! But please come to tea – any time you like! Why not tomorrow? Good bye!”
I want to visit far flung shores
walk on unfamiliar beaches
sit watching the sun set
over seas and cities
that I have only just met.
We didn’t know it then –
When I began setting up this blog, I started googling and searching for lifestyle, outdoors, travel, and surf blogs. I was amazed by the number of links that came up – lining up all these blogs to read, and spent hours reading inspiring posts and interviews written by these utterly inspiring women. Each blog lead me to click through to more – and I soon discovered that there was one thing in common with all these blogs – they were all utterly inspiring and run by women who had decided to go out and do what they wanted to do. Do what I wanted to do. They were living lives that I wanted to. So, I thought, in the spirit of doing things, what better than ask them for interviews and feature them here.
The last of these summer nostalgia posts as we roll, sadly, into Autumn.
Our hair is dripping wet. The smell of chlorine sticks to our skin. We wear old t-shirts over our swimsuits and we are constantly laughing and smiling. We run around, jump into the water, scream and shout. The days are endless. They go on forever. We swim into the night. And sleep with our hair still wet, soaking the pillow as we fall into deep sleeps.