Staithes

It's a bit odd and a slightly socially anxious moment to go up to a group of apparent strangers declaring, 'I'm a blipper ...'. I imagine it's a bit like going to an AA meeting, a dodgy habit that you're owning up to in the hope of a look of recognition and shared empathy ...

Anyway, this blip is of the point at which I realised I had spotted a rare flock of blippers that had migrated from great distances, across land and seas, making landfall here at Staithes on the North Yorkshire coast to engage in their typically distinctive behaviours of taking photos and exchanging stories and sharing a spot of time.

It was a spur of the moment thing and I was late so initially couldn't see any sign of the flock but it was a lovely blustery day so walked to the next bay on the cliff top (extra photo), returning for an ice cream and that was when I had the suspicion that that distinctive blue jacket in the distance might be Kendall and Bluheron, with Veronica, Whiskyfoxtrot, Folkiebooknerd and Spokes. Delighted that I caught up with them all in the end, to be there at the moment of ammonite discovery, and that the idea had propelled me from a rather cold Cumbria to the blustery sunshine on the north east coast and an area I had never been too before.

Driving home I was reminded of David Whyte's poem ...

Everything is Waiting for You - by David Whyte

Your great mistake is to act the drama
as if you were alone. As if life
were a progressive and cunning crime
with no witness to the tiny hidden
transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny
the intimacy of your surroundings. Surely,
even you, at times, have felt the grand array;
the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding
out your solo voice You must note
the way the soap dish enables you,
or the window latch grants you freedom.
Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.
The stairs are your mentor of things
to come, the doors have always been there
to frighten you and invite you,
and the tiny speaker in the phone
is your dream-ladder to divinity.

Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into
the conversation. The kettle is singing
even as it pours you a drink, the cooking pots
have left their arrogant aloofness and
seen the good in you at last. All the birds
and creatures of the world are unutterably
themselves. Everything is waiting for you.