Bawdsey September 28th

Feel a bit Monday-ish today with that nervy, sweaty feeling you get from a heavy weekend.

Can’t remember a lot of the weekend. I drank to excess 3 nights in a row. And the rest. But I was at home with Dad and, although there wasn’t a lot of chat, we were together.

Walked on Friday evening from close to Bawdsey Manor up to the first of a chain of 4 Martello Towers that sit squat like giant bollards along this section of Suffolk Coast. I could tell it was going to happen before I even started. Parking up in a field, there was a ribbon of greyish blue above the sea but I noticed a dark mass above the late Summer bareness of the fields.

It’s a strange relief when you have to give in to the inevitable. When something is too big to challenge. I had just got to the beach when the first drops fell tocking my anorak and turning the pebbles dark and shiny. Give in to it. What’s the worst that can happen? Get wet and cold. Clouds merged or interlaced with other clouds to create a slowly moving blanket and lazy rumbles came from somewhere up there, mysterious and threatening. But weirdly, I also felt comforted. I am insignificant. Nothing matters. The greatness of everything overwhelms me and my mind goes blank. A beautiful blankness.

I can’t see much now as the rain comes in great waves and the sky is lit intermittently. Out to sea curtains of rain move in indistinct lines isolated to a certain part of the water. I imagine myself being in it there. I am beside the Martello Tower and the rain is at its heaviest. By standing between the sea and the great round block of brick I am sheltered to a degree from the wind and rain. For a minute the rain turns partially to hail and the sound changes as the ice falls into long grass. Time stretches and I’m soaked but unphased. Making myself disappear into the environment, imagining myself made from clay and then dissolving back into the ground.

The clouds are more eerie now, small organic tendrils stretch out and then break to form smaller patches of grey and disappear and the moment has moved on. And so do I. Back across the fields. Back towards a thin light in the West. A sign that the storm has passed.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s