Beach Buoy woke as the Sun rose;
5-16 a.m. or give or take a minute. He slowly descended the stairs to the sound of Seagulls above the house; their arguments filled the morning air.
Seaton Carew was once a village and it still is in his eyes.
Various generations of new build estates had radiated out from the Village Green like ripples from a stone thrown at a piece of driftwood bobbing about on a calm Sea.
To many, Seaton Carew is now just a part of Hartlepool but to him, the sounds of the Seagulls conjured up images of an imaginary Port; a special place with tall houses in narrow streets with a Road that led to a small walled harbour in which was scattered a selection of brightly coloured little boats and a couple of them already chugging out to Sea for the day's catch.
In recent times the Village Church has the bells repaired, it chimes every 15 minutes, Beach Buoy takes note no matter if he's on Beach or in the Garden.
This also gives that Village feeling.
Beach Buoy sat with a coffee.
He held one of the many note books that he had bought but never dare use. He would panic at the thought of committing a book to a certain task. Many books had a false start and they would have the first page missing;neatly pulled out to hide the fact.
He picked up a free flowing Purple Pen and hoped the words would flow as easily. The Pen was a bit of a surprise, it could have been such a failure but it wrote well. As was Beach Buoy's way he had already planned to buy more EXACTLY the same.
The large clock upon the wall started to lift it's longer and lazier hand to the top of the hour; 6 a.m.
The Dog still hadn't budged, so it could be another solo flight along the Beach this morning?
Beach Buoy turned the page in his note book ; this was it!
He was going to write!
Suddenly there was noise above him.
He looked to see a large Seagull take a slow walk across the sloping Velux roof window. It was odd seeing a Seagull from underneath with it's segmented feet looking a like three of those triangular cheeses that come in a circular cardboard boxes .
He took the Seagull's appearance to mean it was time to go; he agreed.
He rubbed his chin, stretched and prepared to move.
He heard the patter of tiny feet; four feet, it was the Dog trotting across the laminate flooring.
In a flash they were outside. The Sun was already over the rooftops of the nearby houses. These were Beach Buoy's generation of the new build ripple.
He started the Car, the dashboard said 12 degrees and 6-14 a.m.
It wasn't that long ago you could add up a week of temperatures and they still would't amount to 12.
By 6-16 a.m. they were in the Beach car park with a Camper van, four cars and a Council Cleaning Truck for company. A man and his Dog were just leaving the Beach with a hint of smugness.
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| The light was fantastic, The type of light that would reach out to Artists to come and set up an Arts Community here. It was hot for 6-16 a.m Seabirds randomly dotted the water's edge like punctuation marks in too long a sentence. Suddenly a couple of commas took flight and headed towards the River. |
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| A distant ship sailed into Port in the morning light on what looked like a Sea of Honey |
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| By 6-45 a.m. it was T Shirt time; off came the hoody. Beach Buoy joined the dunes opposite the Water outlet Marker that caused the Sea to curl and twist so it looks like there is a Sea Serpent at large. A Skylark sang high up above the Dunes as Beach Buoy passed the body of a Guillemot, wedged up against a rock it's dark flat little feet above it's sad body. |
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| In the Dunes there were Dandelions, clinging to the Sand. One clump on it's own ,as if trying to be closest to the Sea. As a child, Beach Buoy believed if you picked a Dandelion then you would wet the bed. He was later reliably informed this was not just a local tradition. |
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| He sat down on perfectly angled Rock for a sit and a think, down by the World War Two defences at North Gare. The Smell of the Fresh Sea filled his lungs. He pondered how the Beach has gone into another phase now. Holiday makers, Skylarks, Sand Flies and the Sand Martins swooping around to catch them. The finds would be less with the calmer Seas but it's all about change; a trade off and "That's fine." Beach Buoy thought. Suddenly the "Perfectly angled rock." began to feel uncomfortable. Numb bum had set in. He unthreaded his now removed hoody from the strap of his Beach Bag. He folded the garment to make a cushion to sit on. He sat a bit longer. He thought a bit longer. |
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| Beach Buoy headed back and picked up a bonus find or two, Left overs who hadn't gone to sea for the Summer. |
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| A small stone seemed to be encrusted with diamonds as it sparkled in the bright morning Sunlight. |
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| A child's toy; a Didhedropus stalked the Beach in search of food, or a Beach cleaner! ... In the Bag! |
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| Awkward wouldn't leave without a struggle. He dug in his heels and left a trail in the sand behind him. Beach Buoy sighed. |
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| Beach Buoy laid out his Beach clean. He photographed it. He blogged it. BEACH BUOY. |
