The Path.

 

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Sun, biting wind.

Meet a dog walker who asks if I am out painting. I say I will draw if I can find somewhere out of the wind. He tells me where I should go, then patting me on the shoulder says ‘Good luck Mrs Picasso’. I walk on. Turning down the path to the shore the wind hits me and takes my breath away. I turn my back and retreat . In the harbour hundreds of eider ducks think the same as they bob collectively behind the shelter of the pier wall.

High tide

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Charcoal, watercolour, pencil and sea water.

Coastal path to Anstruther. High tide.

A kestrel hovers just above my head, unconcerned by my presence. Rain over Pittenweem brings the wind. It rips the paper from my board and I clamber down the rocks to get it back – crumpled and a bit soggy.

Dawning

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Small yellow winged birds flit from rock to rock. Morning walkers in bobble hats and boots. Puddles. Up the path to the stubbled field. Blooming gorse for a birthday. Muddied footprints, washing lines and sheds.

This is the start for my new line of walking and drawing and talking through the village.