Beyond the lighthouse.

Sketch, Ruby Bay, Elie.

A good westerley this morning ruffles the shoreline. Clambering over the rocks, a picture of my younger self, but now cautious, considered. I try a small leap, it feels good, I just need a bit of cajoling these days. The rocks here are impermeable, the sea has seemingly made little impact, grey in colour or rather, if I look closer more of a burnt charcoal ashey smudge of a colour- ‘mole’s breath’ according to a paint chart I am looking at on my desk at home. Below the rocks the sea slaps, slips over bronze bladderwrack . The wind is picking up and the sea responds, churning itself round the small bay, dashing into the smallest of gaps, salt floats high in the air, curing this landscape like a memory. A startling white gannet glides past heading east to the Bass Rock.