The rain came from the south and I watched it from inside my jacket. It dissolved the horizon, threw spangles on the sea and spattered my hood like space dust. It’s a lovely thing rain, when it’s not been around for a while and you’re standing on the beach in a new coat.

Rain WalkSummer smelled different, of tarmac and earth and wet blackberry grass. Sea thrift and campion and foxgloves have gone to wet brown husks but the parma-violet-heather was new and the earth shone red. The day darkled but colours glowed moody and rich, spray soaked the stone cairns built by kids on the pebble ridge, and cobwebs were gorse chandeliers. The steel grey sea got brisk and frisky and up rose a black backed gull, soaring over the cliffs, flying the wind, sailing the squalls.

A new raincoat is lovely till you wear it up the hills with a backpack. That’s when I feel like a warm-wet-salt-plastic-lump of Happy Shopper cheese, lost like laundry in the murk of my bag.

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