New Year from Dorset
"Actually, I just woke up one day and decided I didn't want to feel like that anymore, or ever again. So I changed. Just like that"
And so begins another New Year, another page, another chapter, same book, totally different slant. Au revoir to 2014 and the years that went before, the blessed relief is overwhelming.
It has to be said that the end of 2014 and the welcoming in of 2015 wasn't without its merits. I found I could laugh uncontrollably and not care whereas perhaps before I had been silenced, admonished, squashed, controlled. You can try and beat a person into submission but if they have a spirit you can never extinguish the flame.
But enough of reflections. There were beaches to be embraced, waves to dodge, circling squawking seagulls overhead to avoid, muddy paths and hills to clamber, gentle undulating unassuming views to quietly admire. A hidden church quickly enveloped by the dusk and approached by a single track with grass snaking down the middle gave pause for thought and contemplation. The fabulous depths of Dorset.
Fossil hunting beckoned one seductively sunny morning where an impressive selection of belemnites and ammonites was quickly amassed although I do admit to having an 'expert' to hand... I love the Dorset coast, I never tire of gazing endlessly into shallow pools of water, burrowing into the sand in the hope of unearthing another treasure. A little pile of goodies were slowly being collected and a stab of contentment caught me unawares. But then I wasn't too surprised, I had subconsciously been dreaming of being back here for so long.
But I confess the highlight of New Year for me was the trip to Lyme Regis. The harbour wall, known as "The Cobb", features in Jane Austen's novel Persuasion, and in The French Lieutenant's Woman, a novel by British writer John Fowles. On a calm sunny day people saunter and breathe in the tranquillity of this quaint unspoilt British seaside resort. Thousands of pairs of feet tentatively amble along the slightly sloping harbour wall. But New Years Day was different. Mother Nature was unleashing her passions, all her pent up fury relentlessly pounding against the helpless stone. I could hardly stand up against the gale force winds, my legs threatening to buckle with exhaustion. I lost count of the times the powerful waves cascaded over the walls, the huge burst of spray emitting delighted groans, slightly terrified yet slightly in awe of its mesmeric hold.
2015 unleashed with all the power and passion of a New Year which was promising to be a roller coaster ride. Not a safety harness in sight.
Bloody marvellous.
It has to be said that the end of 2014 and the welcoming in of 2015 wasn't without its merits. I found I could laugh uncontrollably and not care whereas perhaps before I had been silenced, admonished, squashed, controlled. You can try and beat a person into submission but if they have a spirit you can never extinguish the flame.
But enough of reflections. There were beaches to be embraced, waves to dodge, circling squawking seagulls overhead to avoid, muddy paths and hills to clamber, gentle undulating unassuming views to quietly admire. A hidden church quickly enveloped by the dusk and approached by a single track with grass snaking down the middle gave pause for thought and contemplation. The fabulous depths of Dorset.
Fossil hunting beckoned one seductively sunny morning where an impressive selection of belemnites and ammonites was quickly amassed although I do admit to having an 'expert' to hand... I love the Dorset coast, I never tire of gazing endlessly into shallow pools of water, burrowing into the sand in the hope of unearthing another treasure. A little pile of goodies were slowly being collected and a stab of contentment caught me unawares. But then I wasn't too surprised, I had subconsciously been dreaming of being back here for so long.
But I confess the highlight of New Year for me was the trip to Lyme Regis. The harbour wall, known as "The Cobb", features in Jane Austen's novel Persuasion, and in The French Lieutenant's Woman, a novel by British writer John Fowles. On a calm sunny day people saunter and breathe in the tranquillity of this quaint unspoilt British seaside resort. Thousands of pairs of feet tentatively amble along the slightly sloping harbour wall. But New Years Day was different. Mother Nature was unleashing her passions, all her pent up fury relentlessly pounding against the helpless stone. I could hardly stand up against the gale force winds, my legs threatening to buckle with exhaustion. I lost count of the times the powerful waves cascaded over the walls, the huge burst of spray emitting delighted groans, slightly terrified yet slightly in awe of its mesmeric hold.
2015 unleashed with all the power and passion of a New Year which was promising to be a roller coaster ride. Not a safety harness in sight.
Bloody marvellous.
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