The Path.

 

2015-12-10 11.49.19 (3)

Sun, biting wind.

Meet a dog walker who asks if I am out painting. I say I will draw if I can find somewhere out of the wind. He tells me where I should go, then patting me on the shoulder says ‘Good luck Mrs Picasso’. I walk on. Turning down the path to the shore the wind hits me and takes my breath away. I turn my back and retreat . In the harbour hundreds of eider ducks think the same as they bob collectively behind the shelter of the pier wall.

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