Ambience

Whatever that word means...

Looking out of my window, it seems like the evenings are drawing in, even though we are not through the first week of August. This time of year is special, because the light and shade conspire together to throw a purple shroud over the fields and the water's edge as the light fails. Exquisite. Beautiful. Distant voices echo over the water. Laughter coming from the Gin Palaces moored in the harbour. Soon we will reclaim our town and the voices that were absent during lockdown will fade away once more. The water will be still again. Until another summer beckons.

An oft forgotten fact is that purple was once the colour of mourning, not black. Let those who have something of the night about them, have black for their own sombre garb? Apart from the late great Johnny Cash he is exempt on so many levels.

This year I have not noticed the smell of barbecues wafting through the air even though more organised alfresco eating is very much a thing on Whitestrand. A good spin off from the ravages of the virus. Let's hope it continues.

Those who have long memories will remember a proposal to turn Whitestrand into a public open space. Sadly the town rejected the idea, the voice of the people spoke. Maybe it is a proposal that could be resurrected? Perhaps people will warm to the Idea?

A friend astutely noticed the other day that the murmur of voices being carried in the air was a sign of things returning to normal, and looking at the big picture, she is right. I am more selfish. I think it spoils my ham fisted attempts to make lacklustre videos. B roll on this filmset. So, on to scene three, after a roll break with the location caterers of your choice. Try not to end up on the cutting room floor.