Sunday July 18th

Day 89

Feeling scratchy from our lunchtime talking, laced with dissonance, I suggest the sea.

Arriving there in burning sunshine, the wind is slapping the waves into churlish sandy foam, snatching holiday hats and beach umbrellas, rolling them along the pebbles.

We turn inland, and follow a path lined with sheltering pine trees.The field of green-gold wheat rising up a long slope is a delicious surprise. I want to run into it’s depths and gather up the prickly, summer stalks in my arms. I capture it in my camera instead - a tethered sea waving to a crystal blue sky where a faint, nearly whole moon rests low on the horizon. Waiting for the harvest.

Holding hands, we stop under a wild cherry tree, every branch weighed down with ripe burnished berries. I sample one of the fallers on the grass. It’s not nearly as sour as I expected.