Wild and White are my Heads

I did the early swimming round, yes but without counting tracks. And taking my “time-out” staring at the ceiling also in the deep pool. I enjoyed all of it! Cycling back against the strong wind, getting wet, didn’t mind it. And I am not going to report how busy or lazy I spend this darkgrey, rainy & very windy day... Admirer prepaired some very old photographs - we could use for indoor picturing - from the lives of grandparents and parents. But we did not have to use them.

In the afternoon Admirer wanted to visit a neighbourhood park and I decided to counter the elements: take the direct way to the sea on your bike. And so I did, arriving wet already. Nothing to see through my spectacles and swaying under the heavy wind blows. It were the gulls that seduced me to enter the beach.

They came on in curves from the inland flying over the dunes and then, masterly sailors, hovering counter windstream alongside the dunes to the south. Endless ongoing squadrons of broadwinged, white master pilots, turning up from unknown shelters in the outskirts of the city, playing elegantly with the stormy counterforces. There I stood in awe, in the wet and sandy winds and - as you guessed already - from that experience on I went further to the seaside.

Seeing there how the winged fishermen were “chasing” over the waves, I burst out in a loud & liberating laughter: Look how grim the grinning seasurf roars: here we go-oho-gogo so full speed ahead, forward rolling splashing all the dryness into wet. Grey and Wet is Your Day, but Wild and White are my Heads, full of Fish & Weeds & Barnacle Shells...