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.

Drawing

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Drawing.

 

My hand draws lines on paper,

journeying along the roadside of charcoal, graphite, ink,

dark nights and early morning fog.

I will go anywhere with you,

scoring,

scouring a groove of a breath,

a memory.

The adventurers

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Cold morning, very cold.

Layers of clothing later I head out along the High Street and meet Gordon the street cleaner. His travels have taken him to John O’ Groats where he saw the MV Bettina wrecked on the rocks below. His uncle, a seaman from Anstruther circumnavigated the globe in 1961.He heads east and I west out of the village .