It was a Wednesday morning at .... 6-47 am.
Beach Buoy and Another Dog dipped down into the dip.
The 7 a.m. club continued north, all present and correct.
The tide was well out.
If it was to go out much more it would surely have to report to Border Control to come back in?
It was a cold and grey start to the day.
Another Dog had borrowed one of Stubborn Dog's coats for the first time.
It felt odd dressing her in his coat.
Like the old Orange coat that Beach Buoy had dug out once more, it was a coat of memories.
A couple had headed from the Pier to the south on their way north.
They put their two dogs on their leads as they approached; thank you.
Beach Buoy, Another Dog and a pair of old coats headed up to
Stubborn Dog Stack.
They hadn't been for a couple of days.
The dark-early nights will limit visits for a short while.
"Morning Mate."
Beach Buoy added some beach stones to the stack.
He patted
THE
stone.
They stood a while.
Beach Buoy looked at
THE
stone.
"See you mate."
They headed down to the beach.
They recommenced their southwards journey.
World War Two Tank Traps seemed to run to the dunes to escape the sea.
It was clear that the sea had recently taken a chunk or two from the dune edge.
They reflected on reflections.
Still no sign of the Seaton Carew Sea Serpent.
The low tide seemed to make the marker close enough to walk to.
Out on the horizon, rainfall fell like a drawn curtain.
The Yellow, Hartlepool-based boat that services the Bay's Wind Turbines, powered across the bay.
They headed back.
A random length of an aeroplane's vapour trail drifted across the village like a closed bracket.
Beach Buoy watched as another aeroplane cut right through the bracket, like some despairing author crossing out a line that he wasn't happy with.
They reached the van.
A man walked the promenade with a metal mug.
He carried his coffee as though it was a bomb with a hair trigger.
BEACH BUOY.
