There’s a lot to appreciate about spring, obviously, but, for me, these moments are the ones that shift the whole feel of a week: when it’s light enough to head down the coast on a Wednesday evening and walk at John Muir as the sun is setting. That break in the week, shaking off the sluggishness that comes with hours spent at a desk. It doesn’t have to be a midweek walk: if I could drive, this would be my default walk any day. Getting in the car, driving for half an hour, and just being here. If I could drive, I wouldn’t be at my desk this evening writing this post. I’d be back here with the lads.
I’ve shared about this walk in two out of the last three posts here, which tells you something: we love this walk. This stretch of coastline between Yellowcraig and Gullane has become our favourite walk so far this year – after John Muir Country Park that is, as my second home will always hold a very special place for us.
But we keep coming back to this walk for its views, its variety – beaches, dunes, winding paths, rocky shores – and its quietness.
Where to begin when writing a blog post about peaceful scenes and the beauty of nature when faced with the trauma in our world at the moment. The brutality and horrifying inhumanity of the war in Ukraine. Watching hundreds of thousands of (primarily) women and children leave the security of the lives they’ve known; their homes, their jobs, their families; their husbands, partners, fathers, brothers, sons; leaving behind their identities, for a displaced life as refugees. As I’m writing this, there are two million people, refugees, who have left Ukraine. It’s unthinkable.
What is the first thing you notice when looking at the photo above? Is it the moon? Very possibly. It was so beautiful in reality; huge, much bigger than it appears here, and I was frustrated that I couldn’t capture its scale or beauty.
Perhaps it’s the colour, that incredible glow of pink and lilac. The light was staggering; that light just after the sun had set when the sky burst into colour.
The last time I shared a blog post here, I started by writing: How did we get to September? At that point, I hadn’t shared a post since July and couldn’t believe how the time had just passed. And yet here I am, writing this post at the beginning of January, a whole four months later. I’m not really one for New Year resolutions. I think it’s good to have some ideas and hopes for the year ahead, but resolutions feel too inflexible for these evolving times. I clearly recall starting 2020 with resolutions (didn’t we all?). So, no resolutions, but perhaps an intention or two would be okay, starting with making/finding the time to sit down and write here. Just to sit and write.
How did we get to September? Looking back, I realise my previous post was from the end of July, and I certainly didn’t expect to skip the whole of August. The whole of August. And it was a good month (heat and humidity aside) as we had a week’s holiday with day trips to Northumberland and Fife, so yes, I have a bit of catching up to do here.