Winter Closure

True Evening

True Morning

Entrez

True Night

Driving to west

The Pier

Another evening on the coast, another point-of-view of the same singularity along the monotonous, endless frontier between dry land and sea.

Skyes of Normandy

Yellow Calvados

The Pier

Alone on the pier

Courseulles Sur Mer, Normandy, on the bay of Seine, exactly on the same strip of sand where more than seventy years ago the Overlord operation began, on the D-day.

I've been attending a meeting after another till some minutes past six. Once the last of our french guest had just gone home, I said to my trip companion I would have driven to the sea, no matter what he thought. I wanted to smell the sea and listen even for a while the sound of the crashing waves. So, without dropping our bags we've jumped on our car and headed north, driving through the naked countryside, till reaching this place when the night had already covered everything with darkness. Without spending too much time looking around, we entered a restaurant standing right on the beach. One of those that our colleagues from Caen talked us so well about.

After a completely uninspiring dinner, winning the reluctance of my colleague, I walked down to the channel and there, having left him looking for a shelter from the strong wind, I took alone a walk along the wooden pier that leads to the harbor entrance. At the end of it a small lighthouse was weakly indicating the end of the path and the beginning of the sea. But I hadn't noticed before that the tide was low, so low as only on the Channel it can be. I leaned out of the fence only to realize that there was just sand and some scattered tufts of momentarily dry seaweed. The only living sign of presence of the sea was a feeble sound of the surf, out in the dark.

(Made and sent from my mobile)