10:20pm
Midsummer is a double edged affair I often think. What could be better than to still be at large with your camera comfortably after 10pm, unable to tear yourself away from moments like this one, when all but the hardiest few surfers have left the sea, and only one party remains on the beach beside the glow of a distant fireside? Evenings such as this are the ones that find me eventually returning to the car with a happy smile, although with the one drawback that the light lingers for so long I know it will be almost 11pm by the time I'm home with work in the morning and no real chance to view the results until the weekend. Still, it's hardly anything to complain about.
On a few recent outings I've been accompanied by my partner Ali, and her sister's dog, a cocker spaniel called Rosie who for every mile that we complete covers at least 15 of her own in her endless search for rabbits along the dunes behind the beach. She caught one once, which was an uncomfortable moment in front of families with young children returning to their cars.
At least we never arrive until late. Later in fact than I ever plan to because Ali is one of those people who arrives for absolutely everything just when you think she's decided to stay at home, whatever the time of day. Recently I've taken to telling her that we need to be somewhere at least half an hour earlier than we really do. It's the only hope of getting there on time. It's Saturday tomorrow - I think I'll sneak out of the house when she's not watching as I've an urge to head west beyond Penzance again and if I take her with me we won't arrive until Sunday.
This was Tuesday, and my turn to be late back to the car. The tide was on the way out, the sky turned to pastel pink and at the end of the evening it suddenly struck me that Godrevy Lighthouse was reflected onto onto the wet sand in front of me. It must happen all the time, yet for some inexplicable reason I've never noticed this before in 40 years of coming here.
And I guess that's the special thing about favourite places. You keep going back, yet still you notice new things among the familiarity of it all. That's a happy thought with the weekend in front of us. Enjoy the weekend Flickr friends.
10:20pm
Midsummer is a double edged affair I often think. What could be better than to still be at large with your camera comfortably after 10pm, unable to tear yourself away from moments like this one, when all but the hardiest few surfers have left the sea, and only one party remains on the beach beside the glow of a distant fireside? Evenings such as this are the ones that find me eventually returning to the car with a happy smile, although with the one drawback that the light lingers for so long I know it will be almost 11pm by the time I'm home with work in the morning and no real chance to view the results until the weekend. Still, it's hardly anything to complain about.
On a few recent outings I've been accompanied by my partner Ali, and her sister's dog, a cocker spaniel called Rosie who for every mile that we complete covers at least 15 of her own in her endless search for rabbits along the dunes behind the beach. She caught one once, which was an uncomfortable moment in front of families with young children returning to their cars.
At least we never arrive until late. Later in fact than I ever plan to because Ali is one of those people who arrives for absolutely everything just when you think she's decided to stay at home, whatever the time of day. Recently I've taken to telling her that we need to be somewhere at least half an hour earlier than we really do. It's the only hope of getting there on time. It's Saturday tomorrow - I think I'll sneak out of the house when she's not watching as I've an urge to head west beyond Penzance again and if I take her with me we won't arrive until Sunday.
This was Tuesday, and my turn to be late back to the car. The tide was on the way out, the sky turned to pastel pink and at the end of the evening it suddenly struck me that Godrevy Lighthouse was reflected onto onto the wet sand in front of me. It must happen all the time, yet for some inexplicable reason I've never noticed this before in 40 years of coming here.
And I guess that's the special thing about favourite places. You keep going back, yet still you notice new things among the familiarity of it all. That's a happy thought with the weekend in front of us. Enjoy the weekend Flickr friends.