Isn’t that a nice sentiment?
So I’m back in Kent, the home county, my home county; back in my house next to the sea.
It’s a very traditional seaside town: lots of whitewashed beachuts and fishing boats in red and blues, huge houses which are warped and completely unique with half a dozen levels which would make epic grounds for Hide & seek, a fish & chip shop which boasts award winning “best fish & chips in the Uk”, lot’s of blooming flower displays, mini-palm trees, medieval castles everywhere, in walking distance.
There are seagulls everwhere, crowning every rooftop, their shrill cries keeping the air alive and loud. The taste of sea salt is dense and with every thick breath is sinks into the padding of my tongue. I know I’m home when I can taste the sea.
It’s very much an English summer right now. Rain. Sun. Wind. Sun. Thunderstorm…
Yesterday it was drizzly, windy and wonderful. I went adenturing as I often do, and for the first time in a decade, explored the impressive pier which juts into the sea like a green-scaled grey skeleton.
It was really freeing actually, to walk on sea-mottled, slowly decaying wood. Salty water spraying onto my skin, the near-gale breathing against my limbs with enough force to almost send me spiralling away. But not quite, fortunately.
I ventured out onto the lower platforms which rest at the precipice of the pier. The metal grids allow water through at high tide- at which point the platform submerges completely.
It felt strange and tranquil to look down only to see the lagoon-like beryl blue.
Now, I can’t swim very well, and I don’t really like swimming either. But I do love water, I love the sea- the smell and the movement. The costant changing and clashing of movement and wave against wave against wave. I think that being home will be good for my poetry. There is so much life to write about here, so keep a look out for sea-related creations ahead!