I watched the effects of the storm from Olly's bedroom window yesterday. The waves were crashing up and over the top of the lighthouse at Godrevy. They were smashing into the coastline around the bay. The waves were wondrously huge. Magnificent and powerful. The winds battered our white house on the hill, and the rain fell in torrential downpours throughout the day. The back roads have been flooded. We have had terrific hail storms, and this afternoon a solitary - but almighty - clap of thunder, that made me jump out of my skin.
I wandered down to Porthmeor this morning. Poor Honey hasn't been out since my last post. A combination of the weather and being knocked bandy by the lurgy meant that she had to suffer in silence on the sofa. Olly was ill. Marc was ill. I was ill. I even took myself to bed on Saturday. Unheard of, although I suspect Marc was glad to see the back of me. I am not good with a cold. I can handle pain, but colds bring out the absolute worse in me. For example, I shuffled round and round the house moaning about how shabby everything looked. And although it does a bit, I normally don't really mind. I am usually pretty realistic with my household expectations. Three boys does curtail any desire for perfectly white walls. But I digress..
Even though the winds weren't as high as yesterday, it was still pretty wild out at sea. There were terrific surges up the beach, and the breakers were huge and capped by flamboyant white crests as they rolled into land. It wasn't menacing. It was joyful, as if the sea had broken free of its shackles and was having fun. That's how it seemed to me at any rate. The sea is so often described as moody and malevolent when it's in this kind of state, and for good reason. I wouldn't risk standing as close to the harbour walls as some people did yesterday. The sea is not concerned for your safety after all.
And I am always in awe of it's power. I am often struck by it's contrary nature. The way it can lure you into a false sense of security. How gentle it can seem on those long summer days, with barely a wisp of a breeze to coax it into action. How it giggles, as it ripples around your toes paddling in the shallows. And then how it's mood can change. The sea can send those rolling waves up and over us. Catching us out, and taking our feet out from beneath us. I've never let the boys get too comfortable with the sea. Call me cautious, but I think it's best not to pick a fight with someone you've not got a chance of beating.
But today the sea was energised. And it seemed to me that it was releasing it's energy for the sheer hell of it. And it gave a little of that energy to me. It allowed me to stand and stare and be part of it. It provided a backdrop to a landscape full of the most gorgeous tones and textures. It played a symphony of noise that was joyful to hear. The sea beckoned me in a little, and then chased me back up the beach laughing all the while.
I bumped into a old chap going for his daily constitutional. "Look at that!" he said "Those stripes of colour. Isn't it grand!" It was. It was grand. We stood there looking out towards the horizon. "Wonderful stuff," he said "Take a picture." And I did.
I really do meet these lovely people, you know. I was always a very shy person, but I'm making up for it now. Rather late in life I've learnt that a smile and a hello goes a long way, and people are brilliant in the main. The old chap I mentioned today has been doing the same daily walk since his retirement twenty five years ago. In all weathers, he says. And he tells me that he never tires of it, because there is always something different to see, or someone new to talk to. And he gave Honey a fuss and a cuddle. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they talk to your dog. I liked him very much indeed.