Ah, the Sea!

The past few days I've walked beside different parts of England's coastline. From its most northerly coast, at Berwick, to its southern shore, at Folkestone. And along Kent's northern coastline, which goes inland to form the Thames estuary.


At Berwick  the clifftops were misty and cold.

I went down to the beach. The sea was my favourite colour, grey-green. The damp air was cold but it wasn't windy. I walked on the sloping sand that the waves washed smooth, over and over, hissing and sighing, a love that repeats itself, over and over, folds and smooths, foams and blanches, retreats into grey-green, rises into translucence, and breaks on the sand into a thin layer of moving foam.

The white bubbles are left behind, wink out into the wet sand while the clear water returns to the ocean like a stamp to an ink-pad, to be stained with identity.

I imagine living by the sea. Which sea, which stretch of coastline? Would it cure my restlessness? What colour would it be? Ah well, the turquoise waters of the Ionian, Aegean, Mediterranean, come to mind. But these waters too can change colour – to deep blue, purple, slate blue. The sea has so many colours.
 
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On the promenade at Folkestone, an artist has placed a circular palette of possible sea colours, so you can turn it to see which fits the colour of the sea right now as you look at it. Every shade imaginable through blue. grey and green, including white and black. Today, the sea is – white!

But down on the pebble beach it is a little darker, yet neither grey nor blue. And almost motionless.
 

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From Tankerton, on Kent's northern coastline, we walk along the beach to Herne Bay.

Beach huts on the way to Herne Bay

I was there as a small child, I know because there was a photo of me sitting on Muffin the Mule. I remember nothing of the visit or even of Muffin who apparently was a puppet on TV.

There's a fierce and icy wind blowing in our faces as we walk along, but the mist thins a little as we approach the town. Once a popular seaside resort though less so now I imagine, it has retained a dignity, similar to Folkestone's broad Victorian-era buildings. The façades of these are clean, many of them are white, some are pastel colours. And on the main promenade, the wide pedestrian space of the Central Parade, there is a coffee shop, catering to all clients and conversations. There are day-trippers and local teenagers, there are beachcombers like ourselves, weary from struggling against the tearing wind, a bora from the Baltic; and two backgammon players sitting at a table next to ours, with a large board set out between them, elegant and polished. I compliment them on the beauty of their board.

And think of the backgammon players in Greece and Cyprus, sitting under the shade of spreading trees. Here, I was so thankful to step into the warmth of this café, like a glass-house, its huge windows catching and reflecting all the sun's warmth.

The sea in this country always makes me think of other seas, warmer ones. The sea is like an ocean of memory itself, where they are stored, where you can access them, one memory leading effortlessly to another association.

We return along the beach, all the way to Whitstable. 

This time the wind is at our backs, the sun is out, the sky is cloudless and the tide is coming in, the frothy waves coloured with sediment from the estuary bed.

Beach at Kent Coastal Path, near Whitstable

With the sun in the sign of Pisces, it's a good time to be beside all water and especially the sea. The waves smooth you out, release you from the compact kernel of your life, its solidity, its density and demands for regularity and punctuality, deadlines to be met and duties to be fulfilled. The sea teases out the knots of thought, clustered around the unfulfilled, time's barbs and splinters. The ocean eases you into a simpler rhythm.

Of course, there is always something to be let go of, something to release, to say farewell to, at the end of this cycle of the year, and seasons, Pisces being the twelfth sign of the zodiac. Being close to water helps maybe, that process of loosening, spreading out across the ocean surface of the world, one sea leading to another, no boundaries between them no edges to negotiate, no borders to be crossed.

Perhaps only in retrospect will we know what has been let go of. We can of course make our own decisions. But in the deep oceans of the world and currents of our being, there are larger patterns at work. To align ourselves with these is perhaps 'the best luck we could have.'

Just to be held by the ocean
is the best luck we could have.
Rumi

Mediterranean off the south coast of Cyprus

 
 Rowing in Eden —
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor — Tonight —
In Thee!  
Emily Dickinson

Off the south coast of Cyprus

And in this surprisingly hot sunshine, we enter a new cycle at the equinox as the Sun enters Aries and all the growth that's been moving invisibly through trees and flower-stems pushes up and out through the surface of earth, trees, bushes – tiny flowers, buds anticipating leaves. All these new beginnings are visible in the external world of nature. And what of the new season rising up within us?

Canal at Bisley, Surrey

 
Today I clear away dead grass, leaves and pine-cones from the garden. Just beyond it, there's a wood, the ground covered with pine needles. So many birds are singing. A woodpecker tap-tap-taps. A more distant, fainter one, replies.