Birds and waves and the sun shining through clouds.
That’s what i saw when I looked out of the window this morning. I hadn’t really planned to step out of the door right away, with the wind blowing already, or rather: still blowing. But seeing the birds and the sun, like an installation of natural art, I just had to get out there, to walk along the bay.
Every couple of minutes, there was a new flock of seagulls appearing, surfing in the wind, passing by right above, as if there was a seagull meet-up further down the coast. As if they all knew something I didn’t know.
Seeing them brought back the memory of the migrating flock of storks in France, on their way to Africa. And the flock of swallows at home, gathering.
This fascination of flying. And of journeys.
After all the work, this journey still feels slightly unreal. The way a shift of place changes the own view of things. The way that something that seemed so important now can wait another day. The way memories pop up, in unexpected places. Like in the island supermarket, when I picked a pot of Cup Noodles, and the memory of my first Cup Noodles flashed with it: Ireland that was. English summer school in Cork. Which also was my first trip by plane. And my first trip alone to another country.
Another memory that returned today: while driving across the island, I listened to the battered CD I brought, “The Human Condition” by Richard Ashcroft. Bought in India. Played there, on a road through Rajasthan. Which didn’t look that different, seen like that: dusty fields. A white sun above. All this road, going.