Normandy

My second spiritual home, Northern France - Normandy to be precise - where never-ending skies meet mile after mile of sand, and red timbered houses, shuttered against the sea breeze, snuggle into hillsides or stand in proud regiments along the streets of cobbled fishing ports and villages. In winter the light is incredible - the short days offering angled sun, low to the horizon, accenting every shadow, golden against the wet sand, or peeping through the trees. Dusk comes early, with fires and warm lights casting pavement glows from street-side cafes, mid afternoon to midnight, and those skies - they just get bigger as they fill with stars…

Just between Honfleur and Villerville a single lane track leads to the water’s edge. Only a few hardy dog walkers know this spot and the sand is empty, except for the odd liver-spotted spaniel; soggy paws and salt water tangled ears flapping in the winter breeze. The sand sits in watery ripples at low tide, the ebb and flow of the sea still evident in the patterns underfoot, glistening in the low pale yellow light of the sun. At the edge of the sand, hardy, spikey weeds and sharp grasses still grow - sideways - shying away from the winds that whip across the beach, finding shelter behind mini dunes.

The impressionists loved this place - and its easy to understand why…it is one of very few places that pull me back again and again…