Beach Buoy and Another Dog set off on foot for the beach at 7-18 a.m.
As they walked, the Moon looked down through thick net curtain clouds.
It was fairly mild for January.
No gloves required, but three hoods up and hands deep in the pockets of his orange coat, auto-pilot mode.
As they reached the car park, Team Distant Wave drove by, parking up in their usual spots.
Beach Buoy headed for the beach steps, north of the beach access ramp.
Beach Buoy and Another Dog set off along the beach.
It was 7-33.
What had felt like a breeze in the shelter of the streets had become a wind on the open expanse of the beach.
It blew as it so often does, from the south west.
A man walked the water's edge with a large black dog.
Team Distant Wave were up ahead, having used the more southerly access ramp.
Hugo and his mate Lola ran to and from the sea.
The tide was well out.
Beach Buoy looked North.
Seacoal edged wet sand like a frame made from Whitby Jet.
The light differed greatly from north to south.
It ended up being an unusual morning where light was concerned.
Beach Buoy and Another Dog crossed sand, shingle, stones, shingle and sand once more as they headed to Stubborn Dog Stack.
"Morning Mate."
It was 8-06.
Beach Buoy added some stones.
He patted
THE
stone.
He drank coffee from a thermal screw-top mug.
A couple continued south in the footsteps of Team Distant Wave.
He watched the wheelhouse of a hidden ship "walk" the Pier, before heading out to sea.
The couple returned north.
"See you mate."
Beach Buoy and Another Dog went back down to the beach.
As odd as it sounds, they began to head south to North Gare Pier.
The light had been odd all morning.
It was though the beach walk was being aired on a 1970's Television.
One on which someone was messing about with the brightness, contrast and colour.
John Shuttleworth once wrote a song about those options.
To the North, the Moon hung in the air like a giant Holy Communion Bread.
It was Sunday afterall.
They walked as far as The Tank Traps.
They began a slow walk back.
Beach water ran to the sea.
Sea water ran to the beach.
The tide was coming in.
A Lone Gull as big and almost as round as a football stood at the edge of the sea.
Hugo's unmistakable bark drifted across the beach from Camp Distant Wave.
It was gold to the south.
It was Silver to the north.
The Sun broke free of shackling clouds.
Their sunshine shadows ran to the village quicker than Beach Buoy ever could.
A lady with three dogs played by the water's edge.
Hugo ran from the dunes to join in the fun.
8-50 a.m.
A bad news siren travelled along a sun-kissed sea front.
Beach Buoy looked at the Bright Moon it looked like it had paid for all day parking and was determined to get value for money.
The climbed up to the Promenade.
A cyclist cycled a curving track under matching clouds.
They wandered into the Village.
The Moon rested on The Clock Tower.
It still told an incorrect time.
A dad and lad sheltered from the wind as their remote control car whizzed to and fro.
The Gable end of a house gives a fading clue to its past.
The Magic Shop has disappeared.
" Just like that."
BEACH BUOY.
