After a frantic week of deadlines – my day job is playing Features Editor to The Polo Magazine – I disappeared home to Hampshire for the weekend. Two days of walking dogs, checking on ponies and wearing ripped jeans which are more holes than denim and my beaten Barbour jacket that is older than me.
Today I ventured off to the beach with The Mothership and The Hooligans (AKA the dogs). By the by, WHAT a great name for a band.... As I was in a pensive, soul searching kind of mood, the sea with its cool dove grey and soft teal tones seemed to reflect this – whenever I head back him to recharge the batteries, the coast is my go to place of reflection. It can either be as calming as aspirin on a hangover, like today or raging and powerful and being a perfect buffer to my own anger and frustration.
Also it's just pretty and shit....
When I see the sea once more
will the sea have seen or not seen me ?
Why do the waves ask me
the same questions I ask them ?
And why do they strike the rock
with so much wasted passion ?
Don't they get tired of repeating
their declaration to the sand ?
Pablo Neruda
will the sea have seen or not seen me ?
Why do the waves ask me
the same questions I ask them ?
And why do they strike the rock
with so much wasted passion ?
Don't they get tired of repeating
their declaration to the sand ?
Pablo Neruda
(1904 - 1973)
Couple of images from the point and shoot.
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| Ultimate Poser... |
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