It was Saturday.
It was 6-27 a.m.
The tide was well out.
It was mild, sunny with a mild breeze from the north.
There was plenty of space for all.
A lady stood near the strand-line, she was either beachcombing or waiting for a bus that was never going to come?
Beach Buoy headed south on flat sand.
He realised that the "Bus." Lady was the normally yellow wellies beach comber on summer plumage.
A man cycled southward, near to the sea
Pedal power.
Wind power.
The cyclist dismounted.
He took some photographs.
He remounted.
He headed back north.
Maybe he does a blog?
"Am on bike."
The 7 a.m. club passed.
"Morning."
"Morning."
Beach Buoy headed to the stack.
He added five stones.
"Morning Mate."
He patted
THE
stone.
Skylarks sang.
Beach Buoy gave Another Dog a big hug.
Time to go.
"See you mate."
It was a grand day.
They walked back to the north.
He passed the beachcombing lady.
She continued her inch by inch search.
Others headed south.
BEACH BUOY.
