A sentinel gull perches upon a withy. Basking in the morning sun. Contemplative, in the clear light of the first day of a New Year.
The tide is at its height. Over the straggling shoreside bramble thicket, I look out over the part submerged sedge, to the cranes of Thamesport and the London River beyond.
An ocean wandering steel cutter over winters in the saltings. In the lee of the Nor Marsh. Hoo Island and the town behind her.
Wigeon bustle between the reed beds.
On the Rainham shore, gaunt crow's nested trees reach into a blue sky ; across which gossamer whisps of white cloud swirl, on the stiff south westerly breeze.
In Otterham Creek, the silver fruit frames glint bare amid the orchards. Bushes crouching low to the ground. Conserving their strength. Preparing to clamber skyward once more, in spring.
With the tide fully risen, the fertile feeding grounds of the mudflats lie covered. Gulls wait patiently for the ebb. Balanced, head to wind, on the decaying wooden bones of boats which will sail no more.
On the Chatham dockside, Stargazer has been joined by a throng of fellow craft . Lifted to prepare for a new season of adventure, in the week before Christmas
Today the, unexpectedly mild, air is redolent with the smell of opportunist coats of antifouling being swiftly applied. Coffee mugs stand steaming on improvised, timber baulk, picnic tables. Knots of shirt sleeved, wooly hat wearing (to guard against paint drips in the hair) sailors plan summer cruises. Discuss the likelihood of continuing covid cross border travel restrictions. Share home-waters contingency plans.
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