Early morning at my sea side home
The rooks are awake and alert before first light busy refurbishing their homes from last year and the year before that. There is a sense of urgency now which has superseded last month’s languid cawing, it is the need for a rough and ragged nest in which to hatch their young. Much arguing and squabbling ensues over who’s nest is whose early on, but now the furore has died down and the birds are more settled with eggs cooking and young growing.
Sometimes I can hear the sea from the safety of my bed, when the tide is in, the waves splash and crash against the cliff face, other times the sea is dead calm like today with barely a ripple across the water. Through the apple tree that sits below my balcony not yet in leaf I see boats of different kinds; a yacht with a single white sail tacking against the feeble wind, a smack chasing mackerel painted red and yellow stands out against the deep blue of the dawn sky.
Nothing disturbs the morning except the sound of birdsong, though by nine o clock the tourists will be arriving in cars with suitcases strapped to roofracks and caravans in tow. Others will have booked one of the many holiday homes that stand empty for six months of the year only to rise from their winter death to welcome city dwellers seeking the wilds of West Wales and the micro climate of Cardigan Bay. Here Dylan Thomas found the characters for Under Milkwood living in the multi coloured terraces that rise diagonally from the sea to the land or sitting on the harbour watching the world go by and the fishing boats land their catch before the days of the Dolphin trips.
Two months I’ve lived here and am loving my wooden home perched high above the sea. It was cold at first, bone cold as NNWesterlys buffeted the boards and the wind chimes rang like church bells. Many nights (and days too) were spent in bed with the electric blanket on reading to pass the time and wearing two fleeces and a hoody to fend off hyperthermia. My breath I noted was a stream of fog but outside my window the late winter sun held the promise of warmth given time.
I have been so very privileged to live here where sky, sea, and hills meet in celebration; Wales is not the land of my birth but it is the place my soul can call home…..
Kate Field, 65