Tales by the Tide

There’s something about this kind of July Sunday — all warm breeze, light rain, and distant gulls — that makes you want to slow right down and take stock. This week has passed in a gentle rhythm of walking and reading, the kind of quiet, rooted days where stories nestle in beside your real-life wanderings.

Favourite Reading Moment

One evening midweek, I took The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet out to the beach with a flask of tea and a blanket. I didn’t mean to stay long, but I ended up reading two chapters with my feet half-buried in warm sand, the sea murmuring nearby and the wind tugging at the corners of the pages. There’s something magic about reading a book full of stars while the sky above you goes lavender-grey.

A Quote I’m Still Thinking About

“Some people... find the space between stars an invitation. Others see the same thing and feel a chill settle in their bones.”
— Becky Chambers

This line has lingered with me — maybe because it speaks to that twin sense of wonder and ache that often travels with solitude. It’s been a week of finding comfort in the in-between spaces.

Kit Said What??

He sent a postcard, because of course he did. Scrawled in wonky ink and slightly damp at the edges, it said:

“Blythe. Found a shop selling speculative fiction and dried starfish. Thought of you. Also: read that book I told you about. It’s weird but it sings.”

No title, of course. Just the mystery of it. I suppose I’ll know it when I see it.

Looking Ahead

Next week, I want to follow what’s calling — even if it means straying from the TBR. More slow mornings. More sky-gazing. I’d love to sink into something transportive, something that feels like it’s opening a window in my head. Maybe another walk with a paperback in my pocket, just in case.

With love,

Blythe
☕🐚📖

“Sometimes, the end of a path is just the beginning.”

Every now and then, a book comes along that quietly but irrevocably shifts something in you. The Salt Path is one of those books — gentle and unassuming on the surface, but full of deep, tidal emotion that carries you somewhere unexpected.

Raynor Winn tells the true story of how she and her husband Moth, newly homeless and reeling from his devastating diagnosis, decide to walk the 630-mile South West Coast Path from Somerset to Dorset. With nothing but a tent, meagre funds, and a fierce sense of love and determination, their journey is both a physical trek and an emotional reckoning — with grief, with resilience, with the raw edges of the natural world.

What struck me most was the simplicity and strength of Winn’s writing. There’s no pretension, only honesty — about exhaustion, about shame, about the beauty of a windswept cliff at sunset. Her words are carried by the rhythm of the waves, the call of seabirds, the relentless forward motion of walking. And through it all, her bond with Moth is achingly beautiful — quiet, unwavering, and filled with the kind of tenderness that feels rare and vital.

This book is not just about a walk, or a hardship overcome. It's about choosing life — deliberately, doggedly, even when life seems to have turned its back on you. It’s about rewilding yourself in the face of ruin. And it’s about hope — not the shiny, surface kind, but the real, salt-stung kind that comes from the ground up.

If you’ve ever found solace in nature, questioned what it means to “have enough,” or needed reminding of the small, sturdy things that carry us through — The Salt Path will find its way into your heart and stay there.

Favourite quote:
"To carry on, to make a new home in the light, not the dark. To live. To live the best life we could."

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Raw, restorative, and deeply human — The Salt Path is a quiet triumph of spirit and landscape alike.