Wednesday, September 5, 2007
While She was painting.
It has always been a cause for concern that some mornings She takes the dogs in the car and is away for a while. Whenever we go in the car it is to the vet. Does She take the dogs to the vet so often? Poor dogs!
This morning we thought we would do some detective work, so, while She was working (pushing coloured water around on a piece of paper) we had a look in the camera.
It would seem that they went for a walk without us!
To a place where there was a big beach with lots of sand. The sea draws patterns in the sand on the beach, new patterns each day.
To a valley that is filled with heather, high hills and low flying birds.
And then to the Gessail, which we know. We have walked to here, though it is a long way from home. Here the people who lived in the ruined houses many years ago kept their fishing boats. On the beach there are still metal rings deep in the rock where they tied them to keep them safe from storming sea.
When Mr Griffiths was a boy you could still walk down the steep path to the beach. He would play in the caves with his friends and they would dare each other to go deeper and deeper into the darkness. We know this. His cat told us. Now the path has fallen and most of his friends have died. Only a cat could climb down now.
There are pups on the beach here too. And also so much plastic, washed up to the high tide mark, thrown off boats and into the sea by humans. So much beauty. So much plastic. We wonder sometimes what they are thinking.
But now we know that the dogs do not go to the vet every time.
We wonder what sand feels like. We think we would like it.