West Pier 9.38am 19°C. Sunny spells and showers, moderate breeze from the south-west. Low tide.
This morning I am an anxious but determined walker through the city. I feel edgy. Today, a beach walk is on my list. The traffic is impatient and the pedestrian crossings are back to being merciless traps. The resurfaced road flings chippings at my ankles as the cars pass too fast. I walk faster.
The beach by the West Pier is empty.
A blustery wind is blasting down the coast. Low tide is doing nothing to calm the dark, choppy waves. Heavy clouds are looming behind me. The stones are small on the beach today, the shingle sinks softly under my low-tops. Perhaps the tide dragged the larger pebbles down the coastline.
I hunch down to the ground to take in the view, my notebook flipping in the gusts. There are days when I love the cleansing winds and grey skies. Today is not one of those days.
Why do I come here? For the view? The steps? To tick another task off a list? Why do I bring my notebook to a blustery beach and a grey sky when I long for one more day of warm sun?
Preservation
I take to heart each season as it comes, understanding that it will pass like all the rest. Each one brings gifts and leaves scars. And here we are, the beach is already empty. The best of summer days have passed and I have hurried through them with appointments and lists. Routines have become vacuums, sucking up my days and I am left with ticks and crosses rather than memories.
But every week I stop here. And I notice. And I write it all down.
Marking time with photographs and journal entries, I gather up the details in the pages for later. Preserving moments of this fragile place because change can show up fast and petulant.
Peace
I am drawn here to the sea and the remains of the West Pier and it is just as valuable to me on a rainy day. More than just a task on a to-do list, when I visit there is a sense of potential in the distant horizon. Maybe especially on wild days when the roar of the sea is louder than my looping thoughts.
Charged by the energy of a storm, I shout my feelings into the wind for nature to feed on. There is freedom in the air.
Whatever the weather, I come here for peace because when the world is demanding, here nothing is asked of me except that I exist, noticing.
Care
Worries run deep, about water quality, trawling and the dwindling stones, the litter, the gulls and the sea life and so much more. But I am here to find the beauty and the hope in it all.
The West Pier, or what’s left of it, is vulnerable to the weather. On misty days it’s easier to imagine the past, parading over the water. I am protective of the memories of it and of the sea life that has thrived in its skeletal foundations, of the land that supports it.
So I look, I write and I share the stories and the fragility of this place.
Connection
Feeling a connection to this place is deep in my body. It’s under my feet, in my breath, in my bones, like I have always been here. Something in me seems to remember, although I don’t understand why it feels like home. Nevertheless, I am here, belonging to the land and the sea.
The elements of life gather here at the shore, casting their magic. The pebbles, the winds, the sun, the waves, and the sky, each part has a truth to share.
I am safe here.
Change
Now the summer season has almost passed I whisper into the breeze for one more blue sky before the sea cools. In my heart there is a hopeful hanging-on for a late summer flush, warm sun, maybe a swim.
It is time to let go.
The transition to Autumn seems early this year. I already see the signs. The weather will shift into snug evenings and a cosy colour palette, a time for reading, writing, baking and blankets. It does sound good.
Autumn is knocking. She’s beautiful and I will be here, quietly noticing.
Kore x
This essay was written for the Summer of Substack Essay Festival with Beth Kempton and SoulCircle on the theme of Clarity. I publish regular beach journals and occasional essays on living a creative life. Thank you for stopping by x
Your writing is gorgeous, Kore. I can really feel the atmosphere, almost like I am there myself.
I can feel the blustery wind and smell the salty air. We will have a few more days of mellow sunshine, and the sea is still warm, when the waves calm. I too await that time, here in the Western shores.