A February morn.

It seems most of the country is having snow judging by the news. Not Cornwall. Here it is -3 this morning and beautiful. The sky is a brilliant blue and the sun is shining with so much strength, almost like a March day throwing the trees into a sharp relief. Of course, this meant grabbing the camera as we left for the school run and a diversion on the way home to chase that perfect wave...yet again.



It was beautiful. The waves surged and broke with an energy that quite belies the still day, far more suggestive of the howling north-easterly wind of yesterday which had offered a darkness and bone chilling icyness that made leaving the house too much of a chore. A distant memory this morning as seawood lay tossed in heaps, glinting in the early morning sun like so many jewels.



There is something about the feel of that sea chill freckled with salt spray, the shooshing sound of the sea as it breaks on the sand and slides hurriedly back once more filling your ears, the whole frequently forgotten in the adrenline surge of a crashing wave against granite rock.



Pummelling ... pounding ... persistent...



Ancient rock caught in slanting light, golden and grey and brown. Sharp edges melted slowly, so slowly, by aeons of the ageless seas.



Translucent waves roll weed in their midst, tumbling it onto the shore to be picked over by oystercatchers looking for some tasty morsel, their peeping cries carried away by the breeze.



Blinding light contrasts with the shadowed belly of a breaking wave



Gentler moments as the sea rests for a moment, just a moment, before continuing its morning play once more.



Occasionally almost frivolous as it shimmies onto the sand, seemingly shaking its skirts like a dancer in defiance of being told it is time to stop, that the dance is over.



Then reminds me of its rapidly changing nature.



Hope you enjoyed the stroll across the beach.

Bye for now xx