Close to 10am. A white sky, a pale sun. Most of today flooded with the various sounds and tones that meld into one dense, comforting noise so close to the sea. Touching base at the lighthouse. Wondering how residing up there might feel like, always between the waves and the coastal forests, always with both and always keeping a reasonable distance.
Findings. Along the way. Miles in between here and there and here again.
Zurück in bewohntem Gebiet. Regen trocknet in Haaren und Kleidern. Dämmerung als Farbton und Gefühl. Ein kleiner Gastraum, die 1980er haben sich in den Boxen verfangen, das Bier ist kalt und herb. Hier atmet vieles Erinnerung, und an manches knüpft man nicht mehr an. (Kommt man zur Ruhe, ist eine gewisse Erschöpfung spürbar. Und die Bilder des Tages sinken langsam ein.)
Morning. The ships are out again. There's a bright light in the day, soothing, warming. // 366skies
3pm and on. Between shores and island. Also: The strange loneliness of ports that fell unsailed. Hunting for stories among old houses, reading what's been left cast in stone for centuries now. And watching the puddles on worn-down roads, resonating with the thin cold rain.
(Am Strand. Stürmischer, ruppiger als oft. Die Nahwelt begrenzt durch einen Dom aus Nebel, enger Horizont zwischen See und Dünen. Kartographie des Sichtbaren: Seegras, Muscheln, Priele, Strandgut. Augenblicke später ungestüm überspült, fortgetragen, neu geordnet. Das Tosen von Sturm und Flut übertönt selbst lautes Grübeln.)
Facing the wind. A cold comfort in everything.
3pm and on. Shoes heavy with snow, and a certain feeling of exhaustion after wading through the meadows for a while. Sun is about to set on a village that could hardly be more quiet. A lot of what shapes these days isn't obvious here, and some things are made even more difficult that way.