I can’t wash away this winter restlessness

There’s an icy crack underfoot, then silence. No other footsteps today but mine. I’m not far from home, but out on my own. All alone.

It feels strange. The estuary at Arnside is a wintery grey, the sands are frozen, the tide washed out. After a run of three sunny days I kidded myself winter was over but the nip in my toes says otherwise.

A grey wintery chill

Things are different here in winter. It’s not just the chill of short grey days; we’re different as a family too. We don’t hibernate but we do have a different rhythm.

I’ve always thought Arnside was two different places; it’s such a charming place when the sea floods in, but a muddy channel when she retreats. It reminds me of our double life; the escapism and togetherness of our itinerant summer adventures and the messy reality of the routines of ‘regular’ life.

We’re different in winter

Wintering at home we each dance to different tunes. Each to their own; school, work, band, piano, rugby, cubs, scouts, brownies. It’s all great stuff, but it pulls us gently apart.

Down near the beach, on a shadowy rock, icicles flow in frozen time. I see a family, together but apart.

Fingers of ice

As a wintery sun pushes through the grey, tiny droplets appear on the glassy fingers. They slither down the ice, then pause, as if contemplating the drop to join the rivulet below. They cannot stay. They are compelled to jump, to join, merge, flow, to journey.

People pass and interrupt my flow; for a moment I’m not alone. Down on the sand I recapture the solitude. Such moments of peace are rare in our busy family life.

Into the gloop

My boots squish deep in the sinking sand. This place is notorious for it. As I am for my winter restlessness. The urge to overthrown routine, get out, go places, be together, do things together, be that carefree vagabond family. But the harder I try to escape the stronger the sand holds me.

Back on the path, I wash away the mucky gloop in a gentle stream. But I can’t wash away the restlessness.