Was it as I watching my shadow loom its own projection onto a 30ft mysterious canvas constructed from the thick sea mist after chatting with the wonderful folk at Manobier, perhaps the couple in their 80's shed some new joi de vie upon my travels. Could perchance the solitude have evoked melding between I and the ocean blue?
Or, sat on the wall at The Kings Head and having my jaw ache from true laughter that happens when wonderful folk combine, was it this perhaps?
The artists, chemical heads Bobbing about, the shapers of alaia boards, the driftwood craft makers, the scribes, the illustrators and organisers, the travellers and fellow hobo's, the older folk reclining in their furniture comprised of a community. The shop owners and their tales, the charity shoppers, the film animators, the fish and chip shop birthday man, could it be that somehow the ocean sewed it's watery weave into a magical cloak that I shall forever wear?
It feels warm, there is pure love, the wonderful folk, the bluebells casting their hues along the wooded warriors path of lightness...
All folk are wonderful...
