A Gentle Tide at Dusk

Traeth Niwbwrch, as everyone else was leaving - well it was a cold evening, no sunset, no 'obvious' excitement, but I was utterly connected to my surroundings and glad of the desertion. In the darkness and solitude I became one with the dusk and the peace, save for the gentlest lapping sounds at the shore and the occasional Oyster-catcher calling as it skimmed the sea. I photographed gentle events.

"A Gentle Push" (accepted by OneEyeland Showcase) - Prints available from HERE

When I first arrived, I noticed how few footprints there were in the sand. It showed just how cold it was, and that the dull, heavy weather had deterred many of the hardiest dog walkers. Only small waves pushed over the low sand bars on the advancing tide, leaving beautiful delicate 'push markers' after each wave. Glimmers of light occasionally glowed in the grey sky, balancing the patterns left in the dark wet sand.

"Broken Promise" - Prints available from HERE

Facing South West, the distant hills of Yr Eifl, huge and ancient close up, from here appear like tiny islands on an ocean, and beyond them the most delicate warmth smouldered on the horizon, failing to deliver that divine sunburst in this cold darkness, but looked teasingly promising throughout. As it was, a sea of grey cloud moved steadily to blue darkness overhead, reflected in mirror calm pools, and just a small wave of salmon pink spilled into the channel.

"Preparing for Tomorrow" - Prints available from HERE

Even from an almost calm sea, tiny waves had enough power to swirl over the gentle sand bars, washing away every trace of man and animal, footprints evaporated and an impossibly smooth virginal beach was left in it's retreat. If it weren't for the whites of waves, the whole scene would have been one large grey blanket, sky almost indistinguishable from sea, as dusk took over from day.

Although it's harder to find compositions in this sort of low contrast, low light, one's mind becomes more focussed on the subtlety of what happens in landscape, all the time, every day, for eternity. The movement of tide, the flow of air, the change in temperature, the waves which are all about us, from light, to ocean, to sound, nothing is ever really still even if it seems it. My spiritual connection changes also - when in the hills on a dramatic light day, I can feel small, insignificant, humbled - but on evenings like this, I feel immersed, surrounded, encompassed, almost literally 'comfort blanketed' - the sky is closer, the air is closer, the ground seems nearer - I enjoy that sort of connection just as much as the dramatic.

All words and images are strictly copyright © Glyn Davies 2011 - All rights reserved
Glyn's landscapes are all available as 200 year archival prints on his website at www.glyndavies.com