Overlooking Chapel Porth

The old bench between Porthtowan and Chapel Porth, a ‘pilgrimage’ place for me.

The old bench and I re-acquaint.
Calling to mind a now distant occasion,
I release it to the breeze.
Sitting, this time, lightly to unspoken questions.
Wind eroding wood marks the passing of time
since I last came,
via wobbles and momentum.
What a journey!

Stillness.
Icy wind snatching my breath
blowing away sluggishness.
As I pause to breathe,
face to the ocean, eyes closed
it breathes me in.

As one.

A moment’s distraction.
glad of the gorse - growing sunshine -
looking forward to thrift.
A tension…
each season is a gift.

Time moves on. Hop over the rocks.
In a hollow now, sheltered,
just a hint of warmth.
Celadon seas promising vidid blues
refresh
while tiredness
still catches feet against the smallest stone.

As I return
I plant my feet one in front of the other.
Each step sewing seeds
- creativity growing -
tending ideas
mindfully pruning.

Slowed. Enriched. Aligned.
Promise to self:
more of this.

The tall bench - Wisdom beckons.
I perch for just a second.
huddled and exposed,
swinging legs playfully,
gratitude rising
for the creativity and generosity of this space.
In its very being.
Not trying.

Rain.
I hurry on, pulse racing,
mind returning
to the week’s demands I’d left behind.

I reach for my phone.
…and the connection is broken.
I’m sliding, as my shoes over shale,
into the remains of the aging day.

Ocean calls again… ‘But wait - sea foam!’
I crouch like a child
surprised again
by bubble flight
and wobbly joy,
and the gifts I find at the edge of the tide.