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Close to my Dad

I'd headed for Dinas Dinlle simply because I thought my Mum & Dad might be going there, but the car park was empty. I geared up and sat for a short while looking at the amazing sight before me, the salt spray covering the windscreen and the van being rocked by the gales, almost 100 mph they said today in the UK. Jeremy Vine was on the radio chatting with those trapped by the gales, but the sunlight here was intesne and positive, the wind fely like a heart beat and pull of the outdoors was greater than the force used to seal the van door closed. ..As I sat there, a small black car turned up, and there was my Dad, smiling at me through the front window, Mum waving at me lovingly fron the passenger seat. Dad and I went for a walk together whilst Mum sheltered in the car. I was intent on taking pictures, and my Dad was doing his best to be close but not too close. I watched him as he huddled over the debris washed up on the high tide mark, beachcoming like he'd always done with us as kids, and I felt very very sad. My Dad is getting older, mid 70s now, and he struggles more with things he'd once have taken in his stride...He said he was going to head back to have a coffee with Mum, and I said I'd take a few more shots then join them, but as I watched his slightly unstable retreat back towards the car, blown sideways by the wind, I couldn't take any more images, and I made my way back to join them. The cafe was shut. They made their way home whilst I stayed for the last of the light on this stormy beach. It was a day where I was being torn apart, emotionally, physically and spiritually. ..I called in on them on the way home, and chatted for hours. It's funny isn't it, that even the most stunning things on the planet, pale into significance when you consider real love, and real loss.

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Llyn Peninsula
I'd headed for Dinas Dinlle simply because I thought my Mum & Dad might be going there, but the car park was empty. I geared up and sat for a short while looking at the amazing sight before me, the salt spray covering the windscreen and the van being rocked by the gales, almost 100 mph they said today in the UK. Jeremy Vine was on the radio chatting with those trapped by the gales, but the sunlight here was intesne and positive, the wind fely like a heart beat and pull of the outdoors was greater than the force used to seal the van door closed. ..As I sat there, a small black car turned up, and there was my Dad, smiling at me through the front window, Mum waving at me lovingly fron the passenger seat. Dad and I went for a walk together whilst Mum sheltered in the car. I was intent on taking pictures, and my Dad was doing his best to be close but not too close. I watched him as he huddled over the debris washed up on the high tide mark, beachcoming like he'd always done with us as kids, and I felt very very sad. My Dad is getting older, mid 70s now, and he struggles more with things he'd once have taken in his stride...He said he was going to head back to have a coffee with Mum, and I said I'd take a few more shots then join them, but as I watched his slightly unstable retreat back towards the car, blown sideways by the wind, I couldn't take any more images, and I made my way back to join them. The cafe was shut. They made their way home whilst I stayed for the last of the light on this stormy beach. It was a day where I was being torn apart, emotionally, physically and spiritually. ..I called in on them on the way home, and chatted for hours. It's funny isn't it, that even the most stunning things on the planet, pale into significance when you consider real love, and real loss.
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