Sea glass hunting with Mr Bailey

Dusk flew in like a Corvid Prince from the old children’s stories. Black of wing and bright of eye. His wings were, of course, the slowly encroaching night. His eyes were the moon and stars who looked down upon the darkening marsh with a cold, regal indifference.

My train read

A little snowy break for Bailey’s walk today! 🥰 Cornwall rarely gets the snow but it’s always beautiful to see a little bit of it!

I wonder if we leave a mark on the landscape in the same way it can leave a mark on us. At my worst health wise, but still determined to walk, I’d rely on Goss Moor’s flat paths to bring me healing. Definitely a bit of Goss Moor lodged in my soul now, but is there a bit of me on the moor?

This is the time of year when the primal urge to roam the coastal line of #Cornwall, dressed as a melancholy ghost searching for her lost lover at sea, reaches its ultimate peak. Or the compulsion to retreat into deepest darkest Kernow in search of the piskies almost overrides logical thought.