There are sometimes days in winter when it never really gets
light. Low, dark grey cloud hangs
over everything, and even though its well after midday, the murk looks like
it’s not going to lift again. We’ve had this weather for the last few days, the
roads are damp, cars are dirty, and there’s a distinct feel of gloom in the
air. The beach is the best place in this kind of weather. There’s virtually no wind, the sea is
grey and calm, and I can’t see very far offshore, but the gentle waves washing
onto the sand lifts the spirit as I crunch over the thousands of shells
littering the tide line.
At Blackpill, the children’s paddling pool is fenced off for
winter cleaning, or is it because of one of those imponderable health and
safety regulations. In any event it’s empty of water, there’s nobody doing any
work, and it seems to be doing nobody any harm. A couple of hundred yards
towards Mumbles, a young man with a telescope watches the waders and gulls in
the very poor light as they gradually creep closer with the tide, and I stop to
chat. He’s a postgraduate student from the University, studying the decline in
birds in the bay. I try to tell him what it was like decades ago, and wonder if
he really believes me – such is the change I’ve noticed in my lifetime.
As the murk descends even more, and darkness falls, cheery festive lights appear
in windows in the shops and houses at Mumbles. Away from the beach the spirit
of Christmas is in full swing in the busy village, alive with shoppers
eager to get those last minute essentials for the days ahead. Shopping is not my forte, and I prefer not to linger, so I head back along the peaceful shore to the sound off waders feeding on the invisible mud.
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