Light, and sound

Morning, sun rising, to cast light around me. Waves and sea, wind and gulls, creating the soundscape for rising light. Milly moves in ways which suggest that it is time for an early ablution stroll.

Looking out, initially, over Mouthwell Sands and across Bigbury Bay, from the eternal quiet of Beachcomber Cottage. Walking across the road towards the sands, then upwards to the south, along the new section of Coastal Path, then the old path, frayed and crumbling. Yet still it has the magic of the Coastal Path, a magic which tarmac replacement can never have until it also has decayed with wear and walking and weather, over many lives.

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Ephemeral, as the constancy of light changes with each imperceptible rising of morning sun and light. Visibility limited, more lacking clarity really in the early air, as I look out across the bay. Here, this step, next step, up the Salt Path, to the cliff top. Looking down to the cove below, all is distinct, all down there is clear and visible. Further is less distinct, metaphoric of how beyond the moment of now if often filled with anxiety and uncertainty, both kinds of clarity lacking.

All of this is reverberating, echoing, for me this morning. Boomeranging the lessons I learned anew and again when cycling one week ago. The Pyrenees are very different from the Devon coast, and they also share the same unrelenting qualities. Peaks and climbs, unpredictability – there of mountains, here of sea. Waves and swells, capriciousness of sea meeting peaks and valleys, unpredictability of winds.

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I am a common presence, between the two. There, last week, in the mountains. Here, this week, by the sea.

How much does a man live, after all?

Does he live a thousand days, or only one?

And How Long?, by Pablo Neruda, quoted in Isabella Allende’s The House of the Spirits

I am living many days, now. Days which are separated in time, yet connected by the inexorable continuum of time itself. Today. Exhilarating. A run on the Coastal Path, up to Bolt Tail and onwards across Bolberry Down. Sea, cliffs, waves, gentle unison between then back to the Cove. Running. A joy, a sheer indulgence. I have not run for 6 months, since January in SA. Before then, I had not run for several years.

Since then, my focus on preparation for cycling in The Pyrenees has seen me improve my conditioning and mobility dramatically. And, I feel this in my run. I feel alive, I feel redeemed. A new gift, yet so familiar. A precious thing, whose value I hold more closely than ever before.

One great thing has begat another, and I am so beamingly grateful, to myself. Beamingly grateful, for this gift, restored and renewed and anew. One day, a week back, connected to today. I am alive, again, in more ways than ever before. Old passions, new fascinations, combining to uplift and enliven and embolden me.

And, I begin to illuminate why Redemption Song was my song of celebration when I completed our tour of The Pyrenees. I begin to be redeemed, in my own eyes. IO begin to address the redemption quest of many years, of my living, of this life.

Oh, such joy.