I am about to turn on the shower when I hear it. Distant at first, almost thunder – but with a definite pulse. I throw open the bathroom window and look at the skies; heavy, low and revealing nothing.
Studland Bay is shrouded in early morning mist, still and silent over the sea. The dampness clings to the folded umbrellas in the pub garden, staining the fabric with dark streaks. With the habit born of years I listen for the sea, but all I can hear is thrum, thrum, thrum from above.
The sea is beyond the field beyond the garden. Figures move along the shoreline, somehow lacking the randomness of dog walkers. Something unfamiliar jars. Thrum, thrum, thrum
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I can’t wait to do a little blog hopping myself and check out all the great Book Beginnings you have!