It was 6-20 p.m. when Beach Buoy, Borrowed Dog and Another Dog headed to the water's edge doing the Beach Conga.
The wind blew from the north across a grey sea that filled the Bay.
The Timbers of The Seaton Carew Wreck protruded from the sand more than usual, looking like blackened hands of drowning crew members.
The trio headed south.
Curls of thong seaweed resembled musical notion, spread along the beach.
The Mermaid's Song.
There was some orange and brown seaweed that looked as if it had washed up from the 1970's.
They continued south on a beach pop-marked by trotting horses.
The sea began to reclaim the beach, gradually filling up the gullies that it had carved earlier, as it exposed the beach for all to see.
A man walked an Alsatian or maybe an Alsatian walked a man?
They headed to
Stubborn Dog Stack.
"Evening Mate."
he placed some beach stones and patted
THE
stone.
Beach Buoy watched the sea.
Someone's blue ship began to dip dip dip as it left the arms of the Gares.
Beach Buoy looked around.
The once gold seed heads of the dune grass were already autumnal brown.
Beach Buoy will go to the stack one last time one day.
It was both odd and comforting to know this is where he would end up.
He tried to picture the day.
Who would be there?
Who wouldn't be there?
"See you Mate."
They returned to the beach.
The beach was empty.
No Lowry-like figures to the north.
As the walk ended, it seemed like a bus-load of Matchstick Men and Dogs had alighted at the beach car park.
Fittingly a Lone Oyster Catcher blew the whistle for full time as the walk came to a natural end.
BEACH BUOY.
