Do you love writing? Do you process your thoughts by writing them down, like me? Do you get excited about the first, crisp, clean page on a beautiful, new notebook? Perhaps you’d like to join me in my creative writing journalling endeavour. I’m choosing a lovely writing journal and trying to take it with me wherever I go so that I can jot down some thoughts and observations about what I see around me. Here’s my first entry from the other day:
She saw the ideal spot on the beach and hastened towards it, irrationally fearing that someone else might have spotted it too and get there before her. Relieved, she reached it, set down her rucksack and spread out her towel.
The groyne to her left offered a little protection from the chill wind and almost made it feel warm enough for May. She was only a couple of metres from the water. Was the tide coming in or going out? She kicked off her flip flops and savoured the feel of the soft, damp sand under the soles of her feet.
She allowed herself to look up and breathe deeply, breathing in the delicious, salty sea air. She loved this smell. When had she first started loving it? Was it from family holidays spent at her grandparents’ beach hut in Felixstowe, or was it later, from the holidays they spent abroad next to seas so warm you didn’t have to think twice about diving in.
She watched the waves splash against the end of the groyne, sending fountains of white spray high into the air. The groynes were new this last year, but already green algae was growing on the sections closest to the water. Clumps of seaweed lay dotted around; some long and thin like grass, others like a pale green piece of lettuce discarded from an ancient sandwich.The sand was coarser down by the water’s edge, and pepples formed a path along the tide mark, reaching right across to the next groyne in the distance.
The noise of the water, relentless and unstoppable, drowned out any noise that might have come from the other holidaymakers further up the beach. She liked that. Liked to be alone and undisturbed, in her own little world.
Just her and the sea and the sand.