I’ve been awarded the Sunshine Award by C. B. Wentworth so thank you so much honey
It’s lovely to be nominated for these awards, such an honour
My only problem is that for some reason my pictures come out scrambled *stamps foot and pouts* and I don’t know why
Anyway, I’m not going to go down the traditional route with this, what I will do is write about sunshine
Wednesdays prompt was “write the horizon at dusk” and as i sat here, trying to come up with some sort of story it sparked a memory…..soooo, as it also involves sunshine, i’ll copy here what i wrote
As a child i spent all my summers at my grandparents caravan on the Kent coast. My cousins and I would spend our days running through grass, searching for crabs on the beach when the tide went out and enjoying the sunshine.
We’d make secret hide outs in the bushes, play hide and seek among the sand dunes and have glorious adventures accompanied by the British weather. (Ha ha ha…for those of you in the UK you’ll know exactly what i mean about British summers…..rain! lol)
But the part of the day that i loved the most was dusk. The sun dying on the horizon, the seagulls making their way home (where do seagulls go at night?) and the children being called in by their parents.
We would go in to steaming hot mugs of tea and biscuits, for dunking Sometimes, we’d sit on the steps outside, clutching our mugs, watching the sun dissappear. The dampness the evening always seemed to bring would start clinging to our clothes. Then my grandmother would tell us to come in and the door would be shut. If you left the door open it was as though dusk would creep into the caravan and slip into your bed. No one wanted a damp sleeping bag.
Sometimes i’d sit at the front, at the large window and watch the final glimpses of daylight in the distance. I remember wondering what would happen if the sun didnt rise the next morning. But it always did, and then, we would be running through the grass again. The early morning dew seeping through our flipflops, the grass tickling out toes, as we made our way back to the beach.
Nothing ever changed in the night, but we wished so hard that it would. The night always seemed so magical, as if anything could happen while we were tucked up asleep.
Happy days I’m afraid i havent got a photo of the caravan, but i have got a photo of the beach.
Yesterdays prompt about eating it raw turned into a strange story. It started with a wife moaning at her husband for eating raw cake mix and turned into an argument about her brother who had just been released from prison LMAO Todays prompt is in the back seat so im sure i can come up with something for that