Spontaneous

It was a Schiaparelli pink day. Briar roses and campions deep pink against the dove-grey sky.  Thunder wanting another roll with us.  North wind holding it at bay. 

Thursday, long walk day.  Weather forecast for sunny and fine.  But it was cloudy, and the fresh cold breeze had everything shaking, like fists.  I prefer wild weather, but walking windward is a pain.  At the fisher cottages in Scotstown, the wind shifts leeward, like a blessing, roistering you along from behind.  The seabed is still stirred up, but the wind and waves seem back in tandem.  Both choppy.  It could all kick off at any moment.  The sea sounded like the overloud hum of a ballet audience while the orchestra warms up with discordant, irritating sounds.  Something unbearable thrumming underneath.  I suspect they do it on purpose, to make the prelude sound sweeter when the curtain goes up.  Palpable relief when it changes.  Past the rocks, onto the beach, the crescendoing chatter crests into a circus drum-roll.  Hoopla!  Hoorah!  Rapturous applause!  I wanted to jig and cartwheel along the sand; the circus is coming to town.  But I can’t cartwheel.  Anyway, how would you stop that performance without a damp squib finale?  Instead, I walked to the water’s edge and released the joyful dance energy in a spontaneous Qi Gong.  Scoop sea, look at sky.  Breathing in the ozone scent, breathing out all self-conscious thoughts.  Tide going out, the wind not wanting it to, the pure white breakers tussling it back to shore.  I felt the circle of the world.  The three-ringed spinning, the Sunning and Mooning, weather-filled whirling dervish dance.  Seagulls static-trapezing on the stiff breeze.  Stay exactly where you are, you shitters.  Three jet black crows on the silver-gilt beach.  Surreal as a mirror in a garden.  Shifting perspective.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xBoCrEswHvQ