Sunset Dog Beach |
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A man is sitting on a log looking across the water to Fife. If this sunset was music, it would be a rich symphony, or better still Tchaikovsky’s 1812 overture, resplendent with drama, noise and passion. Before him yellow and red flames leap from a brightly burning fire.
He is sitting in a cove surrounded by sand dunes, a surprising pasture for the marram grass growing there. Sloping downwards away from the fire are boulders, rocks and flotsam. In the middle of all this is a patch of smooth, firm sand. It’s a clear space and contrasts with the jumble of natural and man made disorder which surrounds it. The patch runs all the way down to the small lapping waves which give a constant rhythm to the scene.
The fire was made quickly with bone dry marram grass nestling under this year’s fresh growth. By some quirk of the tide the cove has a bountiful supply of wood. Branches, logs, twigs and parts of man made objects each with its own history to tell. He only needed one match to light the wigwam he had carefully made by placing a large pile of marram grass at the centre and building it up with twigs and sticks.
He could have built a huge bon fire with all the wood available but he settled for a smaller, contained fire… the perfect size and he is sitting close. The flames warm the chill out of him. It’s autumn and dusk has come early on this Sunday evening. He’s completely alone. The fire shines out into the gloaming, creating a pool of light in defiance to the black and dark blue glowering clouds slashed through with vivid red and light blue streaks. Opposite; over the Forth lies Kirkcaldy, showing itself as a thousand pin pricks of light and behind them are the Paps of Fife running into the mist and darkness.
The man bends nearer the fire. He can hear the waves; he can feel the touch of the chill breeze. He savours the smell of wood smoke and the contrast of firelight and deep blue, darkening. There is a taste of salt in the air. Thought is calm and tranquil. It’s a spiritual moment a connection with nature.
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The man is dozing when he feels something wet on his left hand. It’s the cold tip of a nose. A dog has joined him without making a sound. He is alone. He is attractive |
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All work within this periodical is copyrighted by the authors and Big Pond Rumour, January 2008. No part is to be copied or reproduced without the written consent of the authors and Big Pond Rumour Press. |