Geraint Roberts - Ramblings of a would-be published novelist

The answer

I hurry along the streets of Aberystwyth on a Sunday morning. It's not busy, as I take the side streets to the old castle. The sun is shining and it's quite warm. There's a seagull calling noisily somewhere and it echoes off the walls of the tall houses.
I reach the castle and quickly take the path up to the top of the wall. It's a hike, I'm showing my age. I'm showing how unfit I have become. I reach the top and allow myself a rest. It's very warm now, but the breeze makes it bearable. I look out to sea, it's a flat pond. There are a few boats out there, some milking the breeze for all its worth. The effect is like paper boats on a lake in the park. The tide is in and it's covered the Victorian paddling pool. It strokes the shore with a benign sweep.
There's activity at the ice cream stall, a man sits on a folding chair at one of the turrets that jut out of the promenade, lost to the morning.
I soak up the atmosphere. I remember what I miss and what I have lost.

posted by Geraint @ 9:46 am