Friday 6th August
Day 107
I’m eating yesterday’s lunch out of a plastic box on the sea-front at Sidmouth. The wind whips through the place where there should be a pane of glass in the brick shelter. My fingers turn blue gripping my fork but I’m transfixed by the pair of paraglider surfers speeding through the waves in front of us.
One of them, tethered to her black and white crescent moon sail, is suddenly lifted into the air by a rush of wind and flies above the sea, for a few brief seconds, like prey in the talons of an eagle. Then she skids back into the water, tumbling off her board into the surf.
I wish it was me, strong enough to hold that cord into the sky, willing to lean back into that wave, brave enough to let the wind fill my sail and take me to shore. Or out to sea.
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