Serendipity

No snow could empty the roads , streets and lanes like this heat .Six weeks of being baked awake .

Bewildered people , dozy with the day , emerge , as the sun sinks , to shop . They buy what look like very random selections .

Late in the evening we wander in the relative cool to the  pub . In the dark people move stealthily like cats . All these dim figures - like ghosts .

We drive ,windows down,  and the Saxophonist takes a wrong turning .
I suggest we keep going . Half way through the next village is a green turning and my instinct says take it .
It is a green tunnel , dim and shadowy .There is a dead end and I climb out .I peer into the gloom and there's a pale chink further on .Is it sky or is it water ? I don't know but I grab the picnic from the boot and stride off ahead .
I am a small pale figure amongst the dark trees
.
Suddenly the small figure squeals and sprints .
There is a wide wide water , a strip of beach and a heady mix of salt and seaweed in the air .

A wrong turning and intuition . Don't these often make for the best discoveries .

Would Crusoe do so ?

This heat. You feel bleached to the bone .
I can't remember the last time I put the oven on . Never mind , there I am out on the shore line again .

There's the odd yacht , sometimes a seagull and me .
My hair has gone white blond , my skin is permanently salty and there is sand in every pair of shoes I own .
 I have given up on hair brushes . makeup and , come to that , underwear. Robinson Crusoe would disown me .

I'm sure it can't be right but it feels as if we live on cold crisp apples and cigarettes .
At night we drink cold cider and watch the pipistrelles swerve as the seagulls do in the day .