After attending the vigil for Ukraine in Exeter on Sunday, my mind was in a turmoil. Beginning to realise that horrors of war are happening, just a few hours away from Devon, in cities like Exeter, in villages like Ogwell. The injustices of the Russian attacks; the despair of the women, children and elderly leaving their loved ones behind to fight; the fear of what will happen next.
I walked along the seafront at Teignmouth, as I have done so many times before. The sea was in turmoil, matching my mood. The waves smashed against the sea wall, spray flying over the people walking by. And for a while I was able to lose myself to taking photographs. I watched as the gulls danced in the wind over the turbulent water, diving into the surf and swooping up as the wave crested. A ferocious dance, battling the elements. I realised that I feel like that. Even though I am safe here, in a familiar space, I feel battered by what is happening and helpless to change what is coming. Much like my grandparents must have felt in the late 1930s.