Artwork: The Beat Goes On. From the COAST of LIGHT collection.
Spoken Light is an unreleased, ongoing collection of writing by Clarence Greenway. It has no publication plan and It may never have one. It feels good to share some of it here on the COAST of LIGHT blog anyway.
This piece is from August last year. (2025)
Roasted Aubergines
All of a sudden, the middle of summer and extroverted and olympic sized heat paints glitter on the trees, the streets are alive with limbs and the fluted masses grow like weeds burnt and backlit by a sun that never seems to leave the sky. It’s August says the collared dove.
All of a sudden, the fluted masses tip and tilt the planet against our favour in a bankrupt prance we cannot give up, better to have than to have not when in the oven as we are roasted aubergines and rice, simmering in stock with a lid on. Sanctions on our movement are ordered by the nearest star. We continue to be upbeat, lunch is served with a dollop of cool yoghurt. Can’t imagine the winter now. Can’t imagine the winter yet we are already backspinning towards it.
All of a sudden it will be that most wonderful time of the year. For some. I am reminded of time, defined by time once again as I catch a glimpse of myself growing old but the same. The outgoing heat leans on me, defeats me, defines me but what can we do but be defined, be defeated and carry on.
A year after the pandemic, Spain was still slowly shifting. Life returning, but carefully.
The Hours was written by Clarence Greenway in that period, between 2021 and 2022, in the bay area of Cádiz and briefly in England. It’s a book of observations, one hour at a time, from the garden, the beach, the woods, the towns nearby. Nature, light, the ordinary made strange by paying attention.
Here is one hour, from August, at Playa de Valdelagrana: (You can buy the book here.)
VIPALGE 500 Playa de Valdelagrana | 08:52 to 09:52 | Aug 3rd(2021)
In the shade of VIPALGE 500, I sit slunk at sea level on my beach chair. I sit eye to eye with the fairly distant, tiny little waves. The sand, well-combed by a giant rake, is a little chilly underfoot.
Cádiz across the bay is covered in breakfast light. The day is opening up and the shoreline is a string of well-spaced, bright pink, turquoise, electric blue and yellow beachwear.
The sea is a blue sheet elegantly tucked in to all curves of the bay. Sheets praise sheets, say the waves. A fisherman flings his hopes beyond them. The breeze tickles my elbows.
The shoreline is a long glance, a stroll, a ramble, a promenade and a tramp; a child runs to keep up with his dad; a runner checks his watch; a baby is comforted in their buggy; a man speed walks.
Over and over, over and over says the sea. The breeze tickles my left knee.
On the horizon there are five or six white acrylic paint splodges or what look like tiny feathers from pillows in between the headlands of Cádiz and El Puerto. The towns are like crab pincers guarding the bay. I am sitting in the middle, as if I could control them, ready to bite anything that dare enter. I am backed by a number of cheering palm trees.
To my right, pine-tree green comforts sandstone and to my left there is a ceremony of paddle boards floating out to sea like clouds. The sun is creeping towards me as it rises over VIPALGE 500 behind me. The world is as flat as a coin with little ridges of life and development. There are oblivious seagulls out near the horizon enjoying the blue snake-skin sea. There is more coloured beach-ware now. Rituals and routines say the waves.
I see the shadow of my head first and then my knees as the cool blanket is pulled from under me like a tablecloth, leaving me on a hot shiny table. The sun arrives on my neck and I immediately warm up like thawing toast out of the freezer. Above me, the temperature drops a degree every 100 metres.
My world comes alive with Andalusian light, a high contrast of seaside hues. I am sat on golden brown sugar, the sea is blue icing, the sunlight is butter mixed with olive oil and my mind a mixing bowl. Repeat, repeat say the waves.
I stand up, the wind thick with the smell of churros. It is 82 steps to the shore where an old man floats on his back in the shallows. Summer sizzle summer say the waves, welcoming my ankles. My tummy rumbles. I think of tomato and pate on toast. Here, food, says the sea.
A trail of smoke rises from Cádiz across the blue icing, a last extinguishing of night and the first suggestion of life, as the grindstone of the city gently starts turning. Second breakfast? Shouts a seagull.
I walk back over two patches of tiny shells and small stones, from hard wet sand to soft to slunk again. The shoreline is vanilla and bronze. It is body shapes of intent and contentment wearing hats. It is shirtless, long flowing, tight-fitting, hanging, untucked or rolled up and is that someone famous?
An overweight human wanders in and washes and bathes. A sail boat appears from behind Cádiz to hold the balance. The heat rises and three beach cleaners zig-zag past me like robots.
Nell arrives on her bike from down the beach, undresses and slips straight into the endless loosening blue knots of the sea. The day is really waking up. It is primary colours and now a partly blocked view by custom and habit. Cream treacle wash explore and figure out challenge sweat says the world. My neck is burning and a ferry is churning between Cádiz and El Puerto.
I walk down to the sea (now 65 steps) for a swim. The sun behind me starting to sting like a jellyfish.
Diary entry from Clarence Greenway on his recent trip to La Serranía de Ronda:
Sculptures moving in different shades of identity; portraits in landscape. Some of them the comfort of tomato soup, others the bark of lonely dogs. The clouds lower with the sun, shadows lean disconnected in a landslide of ritual.
Isolated villages wait like fallen cherry blossom on hard times. Things are sugar coated from a distance. Who am I? I am brittle. My breakable thoughts built in pale light catch fire in the wood burner. Ideas glow and grow in line and space over the earth. I gather strength in personal structure.
Out in the darkness that falls slow across the landscape, I see puddles of jewels and smiling stars. My heart transforms, ready for some kind of voyage.
Headfirst down the tree trunk and leap! Sings the nuthatch. Build you wings on the way down! Hoots the owl. Deep breath. And begin. Deep breath. And begin.
By Clarence Greenway for Heronbam Books. Featured drawing by Coast of Light
This week’s highlight comes from CLARENCE GREENWAY: writer, poet, and part of the creative thread behind COAST of LIGHT.
R AEON LOVE is a poetic exploration of light, love, and the cycles of time, written during the lockdown. A book that moves between intimacy and distance, nature and reflection, words and rhythm. It’s available now on Amazon as part of the growing HERONBAM series. A quiet, meditative read for anyone drawn to lyrical writing and thoughtful design.
El protagonista de esta semana es Clarence Greenway: escritor, poeta y parte esencial del hilo creativo de COAST of LIGHT.
📖 R AEON LOVE es una exploración poética de la luz, el amor y los ciclos del tiempo, escrito durante la pandemia. Un libro que se mueve entre la intimidad y la distancia, la naturaleza y la reflexión, las palabras y el ritmo. Ya disponible en Amazon como parte de la serie en crecimiento HERONBAM. Una lectura tranquila y meditativa para quienes disfrutan de la escritura lírica y el arte con alma.
Introducing Clarence Greenway: Writing and poetry on the COAST of LIGHT
Since 2021, Clarence has published three books under HERONBAM, currently available on Amazon as Kindle editions and soon to be released in print.
Process & Inspiration
Most of Clarence’s writing begins outdoors, in the garden, surrounded by light and sound: thoughts arriving between the flight and song of birds, the rustle of leaves, and the soft turning of the day.
Writing, for Clarence, is an act of quiet attention — a way of grounding the senses and shaping them into rhythm and reflection. Some pieces grow from a single image; others from the feeling of simply being there, open to what the world is offering.
(Taken fromSpoken Light, a future Clarence release)
And our life is understood, our life is love in its simplest form: enough to last a lifetime, enough to sink a battleship beneath the sound of flapping bird wings and the songs of the serin on our rooftop.
And our life is balanced, a friendship still flowering, a charcoal reveller dancing through the distorted fight beneath the accentuated light.
And our life is a metaphor, brittle branches protected from the elements and the roots of evil. We are space and fortune, yet to be washed away by the sea, yet to be taken by the skies.
And our life is getting ourselves together beneath the silhouettes of storks in the lowering sun, bringing best wishes from parents tying up the ends of lives.
And our life is precious beneath the surface — each day as precious as the last,
because you never know.
_____
Presentando a Clarence Greenway — escritura y poesía en la COAST of LIGHT
Desde 2021, Clarence ha publicado tres libros bajo el sello HERONBAM, disponibles actualmente en Amazon en formato Kindle y próximamente también en edición impresa.
Proceso e Inspiración
La mayor parte de la escritura de Clarence comienza al aire libre — en el jardín, rodeado de luz y sonido: pensamientos que llegan entre el vuelo y el canto de los pájaros, el susurro de las hojas y el suave giro del día.
Escribir, para Clarence, es un acto de atención silenciosa — una forma de conectar los sentidos y transformarlos en ritmo y reflexión. Algunos textos nacen de una sola imagen; otros, de la sensación de simplemente estar ahí — abierto a lo que el mundo ofrece.
