I Must Go Down to the Sea Again

Yesterday I drove over to the coast. It was raining hard, continually and waterlogged main roads en route, touched by the tyres sent spray shooting upwards like roadside geysers.
Leaving the house on such a stormy afternoon allowed my mind to wander and contemplate the the anticipated beauty of my destination. The sea, on arrival was a grey turbulence, foaming and heaving, such relentless Neptunian recklessness right in front of me -- and so so very cold, deep, lonely and dark. Ice was forming in the falling rain and as I walked, the scarf was wrapped more tightly. I hadn't visited this special place since early autumn and in the space of three months everywhere looked so different, the leafless, blackened tree branches in the main street, bowing to those commanding winter-gods of air. In some lost little seaside town, illuminated shop windows were filled with the remains of the last seasons sales and newer advent merchandise, tinselled appropriately. In this place there's a sense of seasonal imminence spilling out out onto rainy pavements and into the closing soggy moments of the late afternoon air. The sky, just couldn't be painted today. Maybe I'll go down to the sea again soon, to the lonely sea and the sky.