The sea was unassumingly grey and boring as much as I would prefer to say otherwise. The tiny waves, however, were falling so abruptly. There must have been a sudden drop in depth close to the beach line. ‘This doesn’t look like a safe paddling pool for children’, I thought to myself but who was I to tell? And who was I to test the truth of my own assumptions or my swimming skills? Not with a frozen shoulder.

Camera felt quite cumbersome with my disability. I felt awkward lifting it up above my chest and photographing birds seemed inappropriate with a shoulder that was grieving its loss of capability but I was bored and actually I have been feeling bored for a while now, regularly experiencing a fed-up mama syndrome that simply manifests itself by wanting to reach for something and feeling that I shouldn’t be wanting to reach for anything besides my child’s hand, perhaps.

The wind was unpleasant, slicing through my jacket as if I was a window of opportunity rather than a human being made of fat and tissue. ‘No amount of fat can make up for a protective layer’ I reproach myself. Better to invest in a new jacket than an extra portion of food. I thought but I honestly did not see myself following on this wisdom too promptly.

I’ve been feeling quite removed from my children lately; partially because of my preoccupations and largely because of their speed. That I find so hard to match.

I’ve been dreaming of going somewhere where I cannot be reached, where I am not disturbed but where I can safely observe everything from afar – a spot difficult enough for the kids to reach – where they cannot disturb me and I do not need to interfere in their play. The place of non-interference.

I saw a lady sitting on the beach supported by the cliff’s wall, writing. And I felt such peace when I saw her as if she was where she was supposed to be. I exhaled. I was so happy for her. So glad. The feeling of peace overwhelmed me like a warm blanket and the sun arrived at the same time and I could do no more but to accept its non-scorching fire.

The children were the first ones to discover the pier. It was hiding below the horizon as if it was their prize for daring feet unphased by the discomfort of beach pebbles. And here it was – a spacious playground and a new viewpoint.

Two photographers came over. They were changing their lenses as if to remind me to change mine. So I did. The wide angle lens transformed the birds into small moving objects against which the cliffs majestically stood their ground.

The sea licked the cliffs like a small puppy its owner – unapologetically loving its face. Jealous of their interaction, I climbed down the ladder fastened to the pier and landed in water next to a chalky rock caressed by foamy waves. I climbed the rock covered with seaweed and positioned myself in a place that would somehow absorb it all. I had only felt half of my body on the descent. I was holding the steel staircase ladder with both hands but I do not have much grip in my left hand. It’s the unreliable hand. I got anxious. What would happen if I lose grip in my right hand – there would be nothing to support me then. ‘You still have it.’ I eased my brain and climbed down while my husband passed me the camera.

I was chuffed with the photos.

‘The ground made it to heaven’ I thought to myself. For He is risen.

Easter 2024, Beer, Devon, United Kingdom