By Robin Graham
Suddenly it’s all colour again, as if Hockney had wandered away from the pool and down to the beach. The inverted pendulums of a dozen surf kites sway and swoop over the water, falling and rising across three bands of blue; the sky, the sea, the brilliant strip of bright turquoise that laps at the sand.
It doesn’t yet feel like summer on the skin but it’s certainly beginning to look like it. Nobody is swimming in the cold water but the swimsuits are out, the afternoon warm enough to bathe in the sun; bikinis, speedos and pre-season bodies litter the strand, bordered at its rear by an eruption of scrubby Spring growth – low-lying marine grasses and plants, a mess now of purples, yellows, blues and reds.
Back in the old town the little boutiques have opened up and dusted themselves off. Ceramics and Moroccan jewellery, lamps and throws and all kinds of scented stuff. The very brown girls in baggy hippy pants are back with their flip-flopped, tussle-haired boyfriends.
In our neighborhood people have poked their heads out; they linger on the street, doorstep conversations replacing the hurried, huddled hoodies and overcoats of last week. The sun glares down on everything like a woken god. It isn’t breathing fire yet but it’s taking preparatory breaths.
At last, the long Summer days are coming.
Robin Graham writes at www.alotofwind.com.