I read somewhere that cities such as Bath and Oxford borrow from the light from the sun in the morning and returns it with a great gratitude as the evening draws in
But what of Margate
It is a town of many buildings some quite lovely but none can be called outstanding as is the case in the former cities
Margate has a highly decorated clock raised in Victorian times which is at the point of two separating roads
It not a town of great universities or of carefree students in pretty frocks and bright cravats
I own a Folkestone Burgundy but do not wear it on the streets of Margate
As there is something wrong so very wrong about cravats in these days of casual attire
The beach is I am told of imported sand which stretches deep from the sea shelter to the white terrace
An art gallery modern in design stands where the artist used to lodge and how fresh it looks
The town although improving still has an air of neglect of past splendours totally unloved
No longer do the boarding houses and bed and breakfasts hold majesty
They have been replaced by scruffy people who live in scruffy flats offensive to the eye
But not all is lost as cafes small and chic are springing up in the old town
Along with pastel bookshops in shady squares
That are open to curious architectures
Almost hidden at the height of trees
I am in the half light and reading a book of haiku
On a memorial bench much weathered
The Moon and the Pines
How beautiful and simple this poetry is
God loves Margate and is rumoured to live there in a small flat above a record shop
He has gifted this coastal town a light that is the equal of Venice
The artist Turner noted this as have many others including writers and poets
From the first ray of the day to the last evening ray this light is simply stunning
High White
Wide Blue
Rich Crimsons
Cool Green
Savage Golds
All the colours of heaven are present
In the skies above Margate