Beach Buoy and Another Dog walked to the beach.
The half-mast golf club flag pointed inland.
It meant two things.
A golfer had passed away and there was a strong breeze off the sea.
It was 5-30 p.m. when they arrived at the beach.
The anticlockwise bus station stated that it was 10-26.
They crossed the car park.
A sawn off ice cream van had been turned into a trailer.
It had a noisy diesel generator to provide the power.
A queue had formed.
The ice cream seller hurried back from the direction of the nearby toilets.
They walked to the water's edge.
It was around twenty minutes to high tide.
It was overcast.
A grey sea.
A grey sky .
A dad and lad sat on a driftwood bench, watching the shoreline birds pick at a turning tide.
Beach Buoy and Another Dog went up to Stubborn Dog Stack.
"Evening Mate."
He added stones before patting
THE
stone.
They sat a while.
Grey seas are lovely too.
"See you mate "
A slow walk back with a turning tide.
They shared the water's edge with shoreline birds of all sizes.
Some were even the size of pebbles.
Dottie Dog zoomed over from the dunes, then north, then south, in the water out of the water. (Repeat.)
Her mam followed her to the water's edge.
They chatted as they all went north.
If any proof was needed that the Little Terns has gone, it was sight of a dozen or so Gulls sat on the beach in the fenced off area.
Had they still been around, the Little Terns would have given chase.
At the access ramp they went their separate ways.
Beach Buoy headed for the village to take photographs.
It was 6-50.
The anticlockwise clock said 9-04.
Funfair.
Crazy Golf.
Beach huts on the promenade.
