On a slightly raised section of beach with high marram grass dunes behind me, I’m sat watching the sea briskly approaching high tide. Its advancing front line brings distinctive sounds of rushing and smashing as each wave folds over another, the odd leading wave pushing further up the beach and disappearing into the sand. A keen breeze fills my ears too, lifting the driest and lightest sand grains and streaming them into anything and everything – but all is peaceful.

I’m here because I need time to think and clear my head of worries I’ve carried for too long, and I’m hoping this will do the trick. Since peeling myself away from the family holiday and landing in this spot, I’ve written a little, tried listening to an audio book which dealt far too much noise, and sat quietly. Right now though I’m laid back on a tartan picnic blanket, its corners weighed down with chunky beach stones, and I find myself hovering just this side of sleep, not daring to drop-off completely.

With my head turned to the sun I welcome its breeze tempered warmth on my face and with eyes closed, I’m happy just now listening casually to the coastline sounds of people and nature. What if every day could be like this I think to myself, realising

it’s the first true feeling of escape I have enjoyed since I can’t remember when. Indeed if anyone was looking for me, needing or missing me I don’t know, and I can’t be sure if I care if truth be known, as I need this.

Now close to horizontal, I quietly celebrate the therapeutic benefits of my bespoke sandy bed which I hand sculpted to fit the curves of my back. Allowing for a little cushioning from the picnic blanket, natural ground doesn’t come more comfortable than this I think, followed by an idea that I really should do this more often. Then, shouts from excited youngsters and their grownups playing in the waves cut into my thoughts, reminding me that this was indeed a shared space.

Sitting up to watch for a while I notice two people walking along the damper, firmer part of the beach, threading themselves between family groups and erratic little ones. A pioneering mature man is leading the way out front, followed by a dog then a woman; in single file and with heads bowed. It’s clear they’ve walked for a while, but intriguingly the frontman suddenly turns about to walk in the opposite direction, first passing the dog who pauses, then the woman who barely notices at all until she lifts her head to see he’s not there. After slowly turning and barely lifting their heads, the two followers return to their original walking, plodding positions.

Zooming out to survey the broader scene I’m reminded of a Lowry painting where a mix of nameless people with personal histories have converged to move about in one place. I don’t now if he painted beach scenes but this would provide a perfect setting with matchstick beach folk sitting, playing, standing, walking and kite flying. All of us here came from different places and ultimately we’ll be heading off in our own directions but somehow, consciously or not, we find ourselves sharing the same moment.

Breaking my thought line I lean out from the blanket and scan the beach stones nearby, scooping up one that catches my eye. It’s about the weight of but a little bigger than a golf ball, dark grey in colour and tumble-smoothed by the sea. At one end, thanks to a narrow hole I can even look right through to the sky. A hagstone! I think to myself, I’ve actually found one, or maybe this hagstone has found me. Whatever is true, as I sit here studying and exploring the stone’s form, my connection to its spirit and this place grows stronger.

Placing the stone on the blanket, I look up to study the slightly proud sand bank that has naturally built up in the wide mid-section of the beach between me and the sea. I watch how the tide begins to challenge the bank, rolling occasional clear sheets of water over the top in my general direction. Before they can reach me though, the advancing water falls into a shallow trench and moved sideways, along the beach towards a natural oval shaped pool where kids have been playing in the land-locked warmer water.

In this process where the ebb and flow tides have moulded this beach, I see how the sea might in some way have allowed itself to be tamed, its leading edge redirected and gifted to the children’s play pool. As this silvery wind-rippled stream of sea before me now moves towards the pool, I marvel as to how it has all come to be. However this little gift from nature has occurred, I also see its transience, knowing that by this time next year, or even next week, it could all be swept away.

Much further along where an old causeway cuts through the dunes to the beach, my attention is caught by sea spray blowing dramatically into the air after a wave smashes aggressively into randomly heaped concrete blocks. I’ve previously learned the blocks have been heaped to protect the sandy causeway from further erosion as it is where the town’s busy lifeboat is launched. The blocks are a well intentioned remedy I can see, but nonetheless, the sea appears to be in quite a huff and is certainly making its feelings known in that spot.

I watch the causeway for a while, and as another forceful surge breaks against the blocks throwing white spray up high, my vision bounces to a vast wind farm, its many propellors facing into the wind and turning purposefully. A large vessel is passing by and dwarfed by the farm, and whilst I inwardly applaud the initiative to harness one particular force of nature, I realise it’s in stark contrast to the efforts back by the causeway to diffuse and repel it. As someone looking to tread more lightly these days, I do feel a touch of sadness for the sea, which just can’t be left alone to do its own thing.

Caressed by another stream of wind blown sand, I look around to view the dunes stretching either way behind me. Many individual clumps of marram grass have broken away from the sandy cliff top and now cling to life on the slopes below, such is the delicacy of the dunes which appear to have no serious foundation. I’d also read of the increasing rate of erosion and how idyllic cliff-top cottages have been moved, demolished or lost to the advancing sea. It is all very thought provoking, but was there actually anything we could seriously do to turn that tide?

I remember playing in these very dunes as a child, racing between the grassy tufts along thin white sandy tracks, taking cover like a soldier when Lynx helicopters flew above on manoeuvres, and keeping watch over the sea from the cliff tops with my wartime binoculars; I was convinced they had belonged to a naval captain. I’d jump out onto the sand slides below the cliff and generally treat the place as a playground. Those days are long gone for me now, but as I sit here now bathing in nostalgia, I can see that a time approaches when all here will be very different, and when these particular dunes might only be enjoyed in pictures.

This space where I’ve come to pause, to find myself and float away my worries on a sea breeze is incredible, it is woven into my past and present, and I’m now even engaged and concerned for its future. I realise however that in my thoughtful processing, people watching and sun bathing, I’ve forgotten to address any of my prior weighty concerns. Instead I’ve filled my head with fresh sights, memories and sounds: the sea’s energy, power and movement; the beach’s stoney gifts and vulnerability; the matchstick folk sharing the space; and the natural history.

I have also filled my lungs with fresh air and breathed deeply, I’ve rested, and I’ve day dreamed. Most importantly, being here with my toes buried in the sand and with the sun kissing my face, an otherwise hidden, curious side to me has been given freedom to explore. In fact, being here on the beach like the little soldier I once was, my imagination has flown, my inner self has been charged and I have indeed, for a while at least, been worry free.

Gary Webb Writing Ways