The spirit of this land speaks to me as we drive through Crewkerne, crow after crow wheels in the afternoon sun, above hedgerows giving way to fields. Family in two cars returning from the Jurassic Coast – a walk along the pebble beach collecting stones followed by huge plates of fish in a restaurant with a lazy balcony that gives way directly to the sea.. Conversation relents and weaves like the crows’ wings and the sea, eachothers’ tendencies lovingly picked up on: mumbled speech, over-laboured stories. Food admired and swiftly digested. Relaxed recognition and jostling for attention, we know all the moved that will work.
I cannot remember a gentler warmer family occasion than this, but then I am always surprised when they come. Their expectation has yet to penetrate my bones though they are my most frequent gift, the availability of warmth with people I have known all my life.
We walked along the shingle coast before lunch and you could feel the sea and wind sweeping city thinking from us, witnesses to simplicity, uncomplicated kindness that dawns, cannot arrive. Perhaps we have all grown softer and happier.
“And now the kind man approaches, loses his rage and sits down at table.”
Mum forgets her car keys, we laugh at her I run to pick them up, along with the several red, blue and black dappled pebbles that had been my gifts from the beach that afternoon. It would have been careless to lose such new found friends so quickly.