Friday 29th October
Day 191
After our breakfast treat at the Avocet Cafe we walk by the estuary. The tide is high, the waves all churned up with mud, sloshing against the harbour wall. The tethered fishing boats and rubber dinghies bob about on the water. Wires clack against masts. Yellow leaves swirl around our feet then are hoisted in the wind in an airborne waltz, joined by new ones snatched from the swaying trees.
The bitter sweet tang of dark Seville marmalade lingers in my mouth as we shout to each other above the noise of the blustering sky.
I think about my cousin who is younger than me, so frail now with his illness, that if he stood here this wind would uproot him like a badly planted sapling. As for dancing - not even the Shuffle for him.
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