Today I took a walk to find the sea in a very different mood. The day was grey and a sea mist clung to my clothes like a spider gripping its prey in an unwanted embrace as I made my way to the harbour wall. Rounding the corner, the sea matched the sky, muddy grey and turbulent. The waves smacked the sea wall as though in anger, seemingly chastising it for some unspoken misdemeanour.
The colour of the sea suggested a disturbance below the surface, a disruption to the customary calm of the deep. Thrown from their resting places, the small stones, sand and debris discoloured the water, obscuring its beauty. In a season when the news brings no cheer, somehow this melancholy sight seemed fitting.
Yet, almost unnoticed, there was quiet activity on a section of stone below the promenade which it would have been easy to miss. Three turnstones were enjoying the fruits of the debris thrown up, pecking persistently at something invisible to us but clearly enticing for them, dancing around the unpredictable waves as if in joy.
And where I saw mess and mud thrown up in disarray, they saw only nourishment.
Sometimes, I was reminded, there is more than we see, even in the most unsettled of times.