Sitting at Prestwick Town station now, waiting for the train up the road. I just sat on a sand dune for an hour watching the world go by, letting my fingers lap through sand. There was a low sun and visibility wasn’t too good. I could see the outline of the Ailsa Craig and Arran but not many specifics, which suited me fine, to be honest. There were little sailing boats all in a group out in the bay when I sat down though by the time I left, most were back in harbour at the other end of the promenade. There wasn’t much wind but some waves, a constant low rumble. A Ryanair flight came overhead at one point, bound for the airport at the other side of the golf course. The train home’s coming and I wish I could stay longer. I’ve got the journey home, though, a seat facing backwards with the coast right out the window most of the way. The bottom layer of clouds are cirrostratus, I think, wispy and like a Monet painting if he ever made it down Ayrshire way.
I feel better for having come down here, my brain is a little smoother and emptier, my nerves soothed just by a couple of hours out of the city.