Wonderings and Wandering

Polzeath in Cornwall has always held a special place in my heart. From the long, winding car journey to the blinding, beautiful sunsets at days end, I only have fond memories. There is a sense of unity and community that surround us there. So many things to do and see and the ever-changing tide keeps things interesting. The campsite is just moments from the beach and each day, though different, always filled me with the same peace.

This particular morning, I woke early as the pigeons call from the trees around the campsite. and decided to catch the sunrise. I fumbled about in the dark tucking my grey pyjama joggers in a pair of fluffy socks and threw on my brother’s oversized blue hoodie. Cautiously, I clamber out of my tent pod, keen not to wake anybody else, desperate for a moment of quiet alone on the beach. A tender breeze beats against the tent walls and little puddles of water are collected in the ceiling. This noted, I tug my wellies from the shoe box and put them on. I scrape my hair into a messy bun using a bobble from my mums’ hairbrush, pick up my phone and glasses and head out into the cold though still warm from my sleeping bag.

Still half asleep, I wonder down the gravelly path. My feet know the way - past the caravans, through the crazy golf course and to the main road. The beach car park is empty besides one converted van. A young couple are helping each other into wetsuits with surf boards propped against the side of the van. I smile politely at them but pick up my pace, very aware suddenly that I’m still kind of in my pyjamas.

I amble down the left-hand side of the beach, scrambling over rock pools towards the sea. The wind feels fresh against my face and rouses me to a more awake state, the closer I get to the sea, the more deafening it becomes. Somehow, I still find a peacefulness here, it’s oddly comforting to be able to hear nothing but the wind racing as I move with it. There is a golden glow as the sun peaks from the horizon – inviting me to step closer to waves as they wash upon the sand. Driftwood litters the beach. Its ridges and grooves are soft, like waves painted into organic curls. There are holes where knots of wood would have once sat. Subtle in colour from years of age and salty seawater, bleached by the sunlight too. I pick a piece up, longing to know its story of stormy nights and waves taller than I could imagine.

I remove my socks and shoes, carrying them in my left hand. My feet sink slightly into the damp sand and eventually reach the waves as they wash onto the shore. The sky beams an orange display of colour, tones of pinks peering through and coming to the forefront. As it rises, the silhouette of Vinnock Rock in the sea becomes more prominent. The water is cold, but my heart feels light and warm. Despite the strong winds, I can only see the warm hues displayed in front of me, the ordinary became extraordinary effortlessly. The promise of a new days is exciting, it radiates through me and installs a new expectancy in each breath I take.

My feet are now noticeably pale, so I continue to walk along the sea front and crawl up to the right hand rockpools. I seat myself down and stretch my legs out in front of me, allowing my feet to dry before pulling my socks back on. The beach car park is alive with the surfer community coming together before heading to catch some waves. Childhood memories flood my thinking as I remember days spent collecting shrimps from the shallow pools with my older brother and hours of French cricket and sandcastle building with family. I imagine what it will be like to bring my children here and hope that though the tides change, the memories remain alive and the same.