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| They left the house around 5-51am. It was breezy. As they passed the Cricket Club one of the flag poles rang like a bell as the rope struck it over and over again. The sound you hear hundred times over when down at a windy Marina as the the Yacht's ropes do the same on their masts. The flagpole stood alone in a sea of green. A sea of perfectly cut grass, just waiting for the sound of ball on bat. They turned the corner to be met by a grim reaper look-a-like, hooded, but no scythe. They crossed over the road, only to be met by a man blowing his nose as if he was playing a trombone. They walked on the road; it felt less dangerous! People-dodging over, they reached the beach at 6-06am. It was nowhere near as windy as it had been on Friday night. It was still blowy. The tide was well in, but going out. Little Terns seemed to be plucking breakfast from the sea at will. |
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| They walked south by the water's edge. |
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| Sea Pottery. |
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| Escape.... |
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| Sculptured dunes; constantly changing art installations. |
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| Cast in Stones. Not the work of Beach Buoy but he agreed. |
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| Polyommatus Icarus. Common Blue. Struggling in the increasing strength of the wind. It rested on some dune grass. It was at the dune edge, next stop the sea. Beach Buoy hoped the colourful little butterfly managed to stay on land. |
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| Recent winds had damaged the driftwood shack from last week. |
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| They headed back. |
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| They stood and looked at Sea, Sky and Sun. An out of breath jogger ran by; blowing out air as he passed. It sounded like he had never learnt how to whistle and was trying to, albeit unsuccessfully. |
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| Beach Buoy rested on the Promenade Wall as another jogger passed. Was that a whistle that he could hear? BEACH BUOY. |
