July 22nd from the West Cliff Green, Bournemouth

The white smoke wreathes and creeps through the branches of the pines like a winter fog. But the scent is acrid and resinous. And the air is hot and humid. Through the miasma I can see a firefighter spraying the ground and bushes. Red coals still glow amidst the blackened branches. The roar of the fire pump parked in Durley Chine with yellow hoses running up through the trees fills the air. Eventually the fire is quelled. It has been a close thing; the ground at this end of the Green is deep in dry leaf litter and a soft carpet of pine needles and the breeze has been strong. Well done to the Dorset and Wiltshire Fire and Rescue Service for being so quick. The fire fighters decide it has been caused by a carelessly discarded cigarette end. The day has been grey and lumpy but now the sun begins to appear and the heat returns. Despite promises of rain there has been nothing. Leaves on the hazel are now withering and turning brown. The honeysuckle is dying back and the apples are falling from the tree unripe. #Bournemouth #westcliffgreen #summer #july #wildfire

And from 2021

A big orange moon, a couple of days off full yet, hangs in the misty evening sky. The air is fresher and cooler although still warm. There is a subdued hum of voices from couples on benches and people speaking in a myriad of languages on their phones. The sea provides a soothing backdrop. Bike lights glitter and sparkle as they weave along the prom. After the terrible events of today the community of the West Cliff Green seem quieter and more thoughtful. And this liminal space becomes something different from the edge of something to being a nexus, an Omphalos. The navel of the world.