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| It had been a long "Short." week. It was around 6-23 p.m. Beach Buoy and one Dog landed on the beach. It was a one hoodie night, mild but a hint of haze. |
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| As they had left the Car Park they had noticed a pair of laceless shoes, they looked ownerless too. One was to end up in the litter the other had hopped it by the time they returned. Meanwhile back on the Beach... As they left the shelter of the high Dunes a blast of thick salty air greeted them; not cold but definitely fresher, like they were on the extremities of a fading Fog Bank. They headed for a random scatter of odd size rocks, anything from pea sized shingle to ankle twisters and every size in between. A hint of the earlier warmer air wafted by, as if swirling from the Dunes to their right. The Sea was Slate Grey, but not as smooth as Slate in appearance. It was rippled but not rough and it looked like someone had randomly scattered offcuts of narrow white lace onto waves as they as they almost reached the shore. They headed down a dip in the Beach, towards the Sea. Beach Buoy stopped to admire the view and coughed, the small Dog shook itself from nose to tail as Dogs do. They cut back up towards the Dunes to where there was a defined sand and shingle divide. |
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| As they walked along the Sand and Shingle strand line he glanced back to see a hoard of teenagers head into the Dunes. Three Seagulls bobbed about in a sand locked mini Sea, shaped by the shifting sands like Ducks on a Pond. Closer to the Sea three more seagulls stood together but apart, all looking South, giving away the direction of the Breeze. They headed up towards the pale grey rocks at the South end of the Dunes. To their right a defiant Skylark sang its song whist larking about in the Sky. The air warmed a little as they reached the protective arm of North Gare Pier, down where the Sand Martins made their homes by the Sea. They followed the trail of shingle that weaved its way through the larger stones. The Dog stopped and stared intently at a couple in the distance. They were sat on an angled concrete block; a blot of a modern repair to the old hardworking Pier . In the blink of an eye they were gone. Beach Buoy and the Dog headed back. They tried a different tack as they headed along the already searched shingle, trying to take the same but a different route. The rocks became the beach once more and the going became easier. The breeze was at their backs now. Beach Buoy flicked up his hood and pulled it's drawstrings tighter. The breeze lessened. The Sounds became a little muffled. It felt a safer, calmer place. On the water's edge a distant figure with a black flappy coat and a small yappy Dog headed South. Back in the Bay the tall wind turbines turned lazy blades in unison but separately. In the Dunes the Marram Grass bent in the breeze pointing the way back to base camp. As they made tracks the stubborn little Dog alternated between dragging his feet and playful little trots as if to make up for lost time and distance. Beach Buoy dug his hands deep into his pockets; content, but most probably looking to anyone who passed that he had the weight of the World on his shoulders. BEACH BUOY. |
