Beach Buoy woke at 2-12 a.m.
He went down.
He made coffee.
He began to draw.
3 a.m. came.
4 a.m. came.
5 a.m. came.
5-30 a.m. came.
The night felt as long as a winter.
Beach Buoy laid down and surprisingly found sleep!
Eventually, Beach Buoy and Another Dog headed to the beach, on foot.
It was cold
Outward breaths were visible in the icy air, like comic talk bubbles.
It was 8-06 a.m. when they passed the Cricket Club.
The pitch fittingly wore white.
Across the road, west of the dunes, golfers set off.
A tundra-like car park lay ahead.
They walked along the promenade, to the beach access ramp.
They passed not Beach Buoy and his dog as they did so.
"Morning." said Beach Buoy, as he raised a hand of acknowledgement.
It looked like he was swearing on oath that it was indeed morning.
"Now do." answered not Beach Buoy
as men and dogs headed in opposite directions.
They headed onto the beach.
A Border Collie called Peggy went running by, rounding up invisible sheep.
The tide was way out.
Beach Buoy and Another Dog went to look at The Seaton Carew Wreck.
Recent tides had exposed the wreck's timbers.
The sea watched on from a distance.
The low sun cast long shadows.
The shadows became the crew.
Looking West.
A Cargo of beach.
Beach Buoy, Another Dog and cold finger ends headed south.
Dune edge discussions carried across the beach in cold, crisp and windless air.
Beach Buoy and Another Dog wandered here and there.
Steam rose from a relatively warm sea on such a cold morning.
The tide seemed to be so far out.
It was odd, that on a clear morning, when conversations travelled so far that the sound of theses seemed so muffled.
No hoods were up, though it was cold enough.
Beach Buoy gathered some beach stones for Stubborn Dog Stack.
The Sandy Slope that led up the dune edge was frozen.
Earlier footprints felt as if they had been cast in stone.
The slope was easier to climb.
Frozen footprints became steps.
The whole of the dunes were frozen.
Grasses that can so often mimic the waves of the nearby sea, stood rigid.
They reached Stubborn Dog Stack at 9 a.m.
"Morning Mate."
He added the collected beach stones to the Stack.
He freed
THE
frozen stone with a tap of another.
He patted it.
Beach Buoy and Another Dog stood at the Stack for a while.
The frozen dune edge grass looked like Meerkats looking out to sea.
"See you mate "
They returned to the beach.
They began to walk to a very distant water's edge.
A Lone Oyster Catcher seemed to be leading the way, on foot.
The plump bird ran quickly to the sea.
It reminded Beach Buoy of a wind-blown beach football that was destined to begin a life at sea.
They reached the edge of the sea.
The tide was so low that a Sea Serpent Marker that often looked small in the distance, for the first time ever seemed to have height.
A combination of the extreme low tide and a sloping beach had them looking up at it.
It was quite an odd sensation.
Beach Buoy and Another Dog headed to North Gare Pier.
The structure looked like a demolished riverside chimney stack.
Its modern day "repairs" added to the effect.
Rubble.
The tide was way out, beyond the Pier Barrier.
Odd once more.
Standing on the beach and seeing the Pier Barrier from such an angle.
They began to head back.
The beach was vast
The Village felt twice it's normal distance away today.
Beach water, wanting to be sea once more, ran through gulleys, cut by an earlier tide.
They had a slow walk back.
Dottie Dog was heading south
The dog's owners chatted a while.
Beach Buoy told the tale of The Flying Ruby.
They wished each other well as they headed in opposite directions.
The Village Church Bells rang out for
10 a m. as they crossed the beach car park.
Meanwhile in Bus Station Land it was
2-45.
Morning or afternoon, nobody knows.
BEACH BUOY.
