Today was a day of travel. In my heart and head and in body as well.
The trip to Shoeburyness was partly through the snow. Yes, snow in March, on Easter Sunday.
The C2C rail line cut from the inner boroughs of London eastward, through the gentle hills of the country, past the little towns of fishermen and ended at the far side of the English island.
People were in the train but I didn’t notice them really. They were background effects as I was focused on the decoration of white fluffy snow lightly covering the green fields of the land.
Took a short break in Southend-on-Sea to get coffee and stretch my legs. Town centre – which was just off the train station – was quite nice, streets cut off from traffic so people could walk around. The Odeon cinema next to the coffee shop tempted me for a while but I moved on. Had a little excitement here as I misplaced my train ticket but it was soon found.
Leigh-on-Sea was quite pretty to pass through; I was tempted to stop here too and look around. Loads of boats and fishermen-type shops. Rich in atmosphere.
The end of the line was in Shoeburyness. Train station is literally across the street from the sea. Can’t go much further than that.
The walk to the water’s edge was cold and rainy. But like the people in the train, this was just background noise. The cold doesn’t affect me like it used to, it seems.
In certain areas, upended boats lay stacked on each other, far away from the water’s edge. On a nice sunny day they would have been hired out by visitors; on a cold snowy rainy Spring day however, these were just colorful additions to the scenery, unused for today.
The sand was packed hard in most places, but I could see footprints of all sorts everywhere, from adults’ boots to children’s shoes to dog footprints dug deep in the sand. This was all that proved anyone had been here; today no one was there but me.
Tiny birds were flying just above the water’s edge, playing “catch-me-if-you-can” with the waves as they touched down on the sand. They flew in groups, and not alone.
Other types of birds were sitting on the water, bobbing up and down as the waves eased back and forth. They stayed separate from each other, just content in letting the water move them about.
By this time my shoes were already somewhat wet, having walked through grass and with the drizzle of snow and rain coming down. It’s ok; they were purchased for this kind of work.
The mixture of snow and rain made a fuzzy sound against my broken black umbrella. Sometimes when my breath came back against me it would cloud my glasses until I breathed back in again or held my breath. I could see things far off in the misty distance in the water but couldn’t tell if they were ships or not. Added some sense of mystery to the place.
Having come this far, I had to touch the water. I needed to feel why I was here.
The cold of the water burned my hand, long after I put my glove back on. But it was a nice burn, offset by the frothiness of the water and the sound and smell of the sea. I could feel life here in this cold burning water that plays with the birds.
I love the seaside. It’s where the ever-changing meets the never-changing; where the fluidity of motion creates constantly mobile works of art against the canvas of the barely-yielding ground. I can see how life as we know it started so long ago at the seaside.
My footprints will be gone from there soon, or covered up when someone else walks that way. Such is the nature of the place. But it will leave a mark in my mind and heart for a long time.
It stopped snowing on the way back, as I expected it would. Snow this far South doesn’t stay long, and certainly not near the water. It may even snow tomorrow; who knows these things?
I touched the North Sea today. It seems to have touched me back.