Beach Buoy had been up for ages.
He had sat and listened to the wind blow, the heavy rainfall hit the roof through the night.
Stubborn Dog was curled up like a cat on a furry cushion, snoring like a drunken sailor.
Beach Buoy had placed a rolled up, matching blanket around the sleeping dog.
The little dog slept soundly in his doughnut of a bed.
Beach Buoy looked towards the window to the east.
The sky looked grey, but the call of the sea was inviting.
Beach Buoy boiled the kettle to make coffee to take to the beach.
Stubborn Dog placed his chin on the outer ring the doughnut and looked at Beach Buoy as if to say
'What you doing?'
Beach Buoy made coffee and they set off.
They reached the car park at exactly the same time as they did
yesterday; 7-12 am.
There was a breeze from the south west.
Cyclists cycled the promenade.
Beach Buoy and Stubborn Dog headed for the strand line.
Or to be more factual; Beach Buoy carried Stubborn Dog to the
strand line....... again.
The tide was well out when they arrived, but it was on its way back to claim the beach once more.
They walked the strand line.
The sand to the seaward side was unusually soft, it had been blown by the wind, not thrown down by the sea.
It was like walking in very soft freshly drifted snow.
The Border Collie-beach combing couple overtook ambling Beach Buoy and headed south, thou they were closer to the sea where there was some shingle deposits to explore.
The clouds over the village blushed with a hint of colour.
There was a bit of a chill to that south-westerly breeze.
Beach Buoy was wearing gloves but no hoods were up today.
The sunrise had been a bit of a non-event.
However the sun peaked through the cloud like a nosey neighbour would a venetian blind.
Back to the north, orange lights flashed along the promenade as the council stalwarts cleaned the promenade and the car parks.
It looked like some lockdown-breaking disco.
They passed the large driftwood piece as the rippled sea rippled and gentle waves broke onto the beach at the last minute like an afterthought.
They stacked the stack.
Someone had put a top stone on the stack.
It made a pleasant change from people tearing it apart.
Thank you.
They headed for the river.
It looked like a rabbit had decided the same route earlier?
They cut back down onto the beach.
As they did so, a Skylark burst into song above them.
The little birds sing their hearts out, high in the sky before falling to the ground like a stone as though there wasn't a single breath left in their tiny bodies.
Someone had made a beach stone bench with a sea view.
Beach Buoy and Stubborn Dog headed down to the shingle that encompassed the world war two tank traps.
There were no interesting finds today, apart that is from some world war two tank traps....
They headed for The River Tees.
There was an eerie but wonderful light over towards Saltburn.
Two elderly gents walked the pier.
Both wore flat caps.
Both had walking sticks.
Both looked like Shepards who had lost their sheep, and their sheepdogs too, come to mention it?
Old Beach Buoy went to see how the other old buoy was fairing up.
They agreed that both had seen better days.
A large vehicle transporter; Horizon Leader, left the port before circling around the wind turbines, then heading south.
A smaller ship stood offshore, waiting its turn to use the river channel.
The ship may have been captained by Captain Hugo First ?
Who knows?
A Lone Oyster Catcher stood on a riverside rock watching the world and river go by.
There was masses of driftwood scattered along this particular part of the river edge.
Beach Buoy thought it would all make good "Stock." should he ever build that sea view shack with a real fire.
Some of the driftwood that was more recognisable as actual trees, laid together with the branches intertwined like long lost loves; the sea bringing them together finally.
The clouds over the steel works looked lovely.
The dog that had to be carried from the van to the water's edge, plonked himself down by the river not wanting to go back.
A white dog came bounding over.
It was a friendly dog with different coloured eyes and a bell around its harness.
One eye was the palest blue, the other brown.
Beach Buoy would have called this dog Bowie had he owned it.
The dog said hello and goodbye then ding-donged his way back to its owners.
They made their way back to the bay.
The sun came out to guide them back, letting their sunshine shadows take the lead.
A soap-searching Cormorant dried and warmed himself in the glorious sunlight.
Beach Buoy sat on some driftwood near to the Cormorant.
He sat for half an hour or so.
For that relatively short time he was transported miles and months away from the present; bliss.
You have to grab those moments.
The beautiful sun watched them as they headed back to the north.
Halo.
Goodbye.
The tide had come in a fair amount.
The beach was much narrower and busier too by now.
A small brown spaniel ran past with the most important stick in the world, held in its mouth.
Was it the same brown spaniel that Beach Buoy had seen the other day?
Probably.
Was it the same most important stick in the world?
Probably not.
Beach Buoy and Stubborn Dog followed a horse up the access ramp.
They reached the van as the village church bells rang for 10 am.
It was 9 -57.
Van.
Coffee.
BEACH BUOY.
