Here we have made it down to the water, to the sea. Is she rough and painted grey with stormy skies or golden with mud and sand churning. Most likely she is calm and sparkling gently and looks like she won't eat the land at the next high tide, the next time the mood strikes. In collaboration with the rain soaking the soft gold grey orange cliffs, swelling and cracking the edges... they have conspired creating a liminal space here that can feel limitless.
It is a good place to play and this is where you probably will spend a little time. Here where the land rises at your back and the view stretches headily, from point clear all the way to Bradwell power station, if the haze in our big Essex sky allows. Time with the shells and the comforting skitter of the sea moving the shoreline with each breathy beat of the wave. When the tide spills in over the mud it can giggle and gurgle. Take your moment, feel time slow down, and perhaps even dip your toes in the water.
Things you can do!
Make a ritual monument of your own! - Collect up shells, driftwood, seaweed and interesting stones and make spirals in the sand. How big can you make your spiral in the time that you have!
Make an offering
Find the perfect oyster shell. Keep hold of it to add to the shell cairn at the end of the trail. If you have found shells in the grass land you can put them on the cairn too or you could gift them back to the sea.
Do a mini beach clean - How many bits of plastic and rubbish can you collect and bring up to the bins (there are planty near the car park !). Every bit we keep out of the ocean really does help!
If you have a little longer you could go in search of fallen trees at the west end of the Beach!
It is so bright
Play like lace on the insides
Of my eyelids when I close them
The crickets are still singing
And the play area is full of small excited chatter
In the hot shade
A Butterfly kite plays on the periphery
New friends are made and new worlds are built
Before sandwiches are scoffed
The air is touched with the sugar sweet
Scent of oak leaves crisping
Turning brown already
On the beach boy called Arthur gets talking with a family by the broken bones of the pill box.
The grandmother paddles and tells
Her grandson that she can't swim.
As a child she would dip her feet in the river
If she goes in he will have to come and fetch her.
They laugh about it imagining a silly spectacle
While overhead the gulls cry
And on the clifftop a magpie keeps a weather eye.
Perhaps they know better...
Next stop... Temple of Sound & Shadow