A spell by the sea...

It’s been a while since I was on a beach, even a grey day one like this. How I love to wander along them hunting things down, picking up shells and stones, particularly the ones with the holes in. Pocketing claws of bleached gnarled twisted twig and sea smoothed glass, maybe some seeds and cones, perhaps a bird skull, some bones - anything that looks interesting.

My pockets are usually full after twenty minutes or so and there’s always a few feet of fishing line if you look hard enough, sometimes yards of it, often with hooks and weights, even the odd float or two.

On a summer’s evening, a spring afternoon, or even an autumn day, I’ll take my finds, string them to the found line and hang my seaside strings from a piece of stick or root then leave them strung from a propped up branch, or if can find one an overhanging rock.

A seaside mobile by the sea side.

I like to think of it as some kind of primitive art or a ritual, a way for me to join with the landscape. It’s nothing permanent, there’s nothing to be taken home and away from the landscape. It's just leavings, my small comment about my time on that beach, a seaside spell, a broken shell chant, a stone song, a thought.

I know - crazy dreamer of dreams.

I leave them behind as I leave; knowing that my bits of wash-up will return to the beach as the tide, wind, and rain claim them back, each tiny tie falling to the sand below, becoming part of the landscape once more.

It’s such a satisfying thought and a satisfying thing to do. This ones a wish for a kiss.