The Beautiful Hummingbird - Part II

The Burdens, Beginnings & Banana Edit

Song: 'Daydreamer' - Adele

The motorway drive from the south coast is plagued by heavy, stop-start weekend traffic all returning to London. The car is warm and I find comfort in the heated seat with my coat draped over me. Soul music flows gently from the speakers and Harry's hand hugs around mine. He concentrates on the traffic whilst I look out of the window and reflect on our weekend that just was.

After the revelations about my past, we strolled hand in hand along the seashore from Avon Beach to Mudeford Quay.

During the summer months the area bustles with tourist families who sit on the quayside for a spot of fishing. Children are fascinated by the different sizes of crab attracted to the bait net on the end of the line. It becomes a game to see how many they can catch before carefully releasing them. Wide eyes and smiling faces watch them scurry sideways down the slipway and back into the familiarity of the sea.

Next to the working quay is a set of quaint fisherman cottages, rendered all white with black painted window frames.  White salty residue carried on the sea breeze obscures the small squares of glass but that does not deter the holidaymakers.  They pause as they pass by and lean over the white picket fence to nose through the tiny windows to see the traditional décor inside.

Further along, crowds stand in anticipation that the giant wooden doors of the RNLI lifeboat station will open. Although eager to catch a glimpse of the impressive lifeboat and its crew, a launch signifies people at sea are in distress and need rescuing which never a good thing for all involved.

A stone's throw from the lifeboat station, raucous laughter fills the air from the Haven House Inn. It is always rammed both inside and out with diners keen to enjoy the catch of the day from the fish menu. They occupy the wooden picnic tables with a cool crisp glass of wine or locally sourced real ale and enjoy the views. On a clear day you can see all the way across the Solent to the Isle of Wight on one side and to the picturesque Christchurch harbour on the other.

Being out of season, this Saturday was a different story. The tables outside the Inn were practically deserted with only a handful of bikers gathered after their good weather ride for a swift half pint of beer before heading home for the evening. 

A few families milled about enjoying as much of the British Summer Time before the end of the month when the clocks go back by an hour.  The return to Greenwich Mean Time signifies the arrival of shorter daylight hours.

Whilst we were there, the lifeboat stayed housed at the station with thankfully no call out. Nevertheless, I wanted to share this place with Harry. We sat on the edge of the quay with our fingers entwined, my head was on his shoulder and our legs dangled over the side of the wall.

The golden ball of flames fell behind the blacked out horizon, casting the last rays of the day across the small, choppy waves that lapped against the stone wall.  Two boats moored at the end of the jetty bumped together in time to the rhythm of the tide.  The fading light enriched the earlier pastel painted heavens with striking purples and rich salmon haloed clouds.  

Once the black of night had melted the final glows of daylight away, we returned to our tree-house hideaway at the Chewton Glen Hotel. We wrapped around each other under the heated drench of the shower to warm our bones and wash the dirt of the day away.

Despite the now biting chill of the autumnal evening, we cuddled on a lounger under the duvet Harry had gathered from the bed.  Little hot water bottles in cream knitted jackets warmed our feet. The cleansing of the crisp evening air around the balcony carried the white of our breaths away through the breeze towards the blanket of beacons glittering beyond the canopy of trees. Their sparkling silver lit up under the dominance of the moon.