The sky carried pink remnants of sunrise over the horizon
9th October 2023
The sky carried the show this morning. A heavenly high herringbone swimming with bright golden swags and the sun elbowing its way through fluff and sleepy dust into the big space.
Suddenly my drive to the beach stops. Blue lights close the road. The magpies clearing up the remains of a dead badger are forced to delay their work. It’s impossible not to see portents. Thankfully I don’t wait for long.
Bikini passed me as I walked on to the beach. Without fuss she swims earlier, longer and further than anyone and now has webbed gloves which make her strokes both more powerful and harder work.
The sea is a settled rose gold, the pink remnants of sunrise floating softly over the horizon.
Unsurprisingly, by now it was populated by bobbing heads, the lawyer heading in as I sat to change. The boatbuilder arrives and plonks down beside me, his face brown from sailing. We pass a word and I desert him for the sea.
The water felt cold. It’s seventeen and a half degrees, officially. To me, it feels like it is carrying the leading-edge of winter. The small, frilly waves that introduce the sea are strong enough to make me stand sideways but not strong enough to push me over. They are a no-nonsense introduction to the day’s sea temperature and once safely beyond, I take a winter deep breath and count to three before I drop properly in.
After, I’m submerged in deep cool salty water that feels healing and restorative and a literal world away from news. The Canadian’s blue swimming hat stands out like a buoy. She’s chatting to Rupert’s dad and they’re quite far out; where the sandbank would be if the water wasn’t so high. We’re just half an hour past this morning’s highest tide.
As the season begins to turn, it can be soothing to sink into a deep sea. Windy low tides are cruel; stinging legs and shoulders and blowing small, vicious waves that spray and push like a playground bully.
Unlike last week, today’s wind was kind. Last Monday, I felt so cold post-swimming, I couldn’t imagine wanting to do it any more. Not through the dark part of the year. Today, an almost imperceptible eight mph west-north-west passes over a sixteen degree beach. I can feel the breeze when I’m changing but it isn’t enough to rough up the water or air-dry a body to the point of shivering.
The Canadian and I wallow in the beauty of our surroundings, afloat, safely away from the stress and the mess of the world. We have ended up further from shore than we had planned and the swim back to the beach was a concerted effort.
We find our feet. She laughs. I’m facing the wrong way and can hear only the loud flap of heavy wings. A brent goose has buzzed us just two feet above our head. We watch him flapping away.
On the horizon, the gulls follow the fishing boat. Closer, they sit on the still water like ducks on a pond.
