Beach Buoy and Another Dog headed to the beach on foot.
It was 3-41 p.m.
The Golf Club Flag hung at two-thirds mast.
The flag flapped in the cold, strong breeze.
As they headed for the promenade, four Oyster Catchers walked the site of the old putting green.
They reached sand at 3-57.
The tide was well out.
Muzzled Dog and Timid Collie joined the beach with their owners.
A man headed north with walking poles.
He looked like a skier in search of snowfall.
Beach Buoy and Another Dog headed south.
Another Dog sniffed at the branches of a driftwood tree.
It looked like a broken rotary washing dryer.
Seaweed hung out to dry.
They walked a line, midway between the strand-line and the sea.
Two hoods covered a wooly hat.
The Muzzled Dog group walked the dune edge heights.
With the Sun behind them, they looked like a Victorian silhouette puppet show.
The sea was an angry sea.
Beach Buoy could see, looking at the beach that the previous high tide had come with a temper too.
Twists of driftwood and tangles of seaweed lay scattered around.
They headed up a steeper sandy slope.
Steeper thanks to the sea for claiming it's base.
Stubborn Dog Stack the destination.
"Afternoon Mate."
It was 4-27 p.m.
He drank coffee as he watched a jogger run south on the water's edge.
The jogger's dog led the way.
Then ran back.
Then led the way repeatedly.
Overhead, a Gull tried to head North into the chilly head wind.
Time to go.
"See you mate."
They returned to the beach.
Four Oyster Catchers waded as they faced the wind.
No ruffled feathers there.
They headed back to the north.
Slowly but surely.
Beach Buoy pulled the chords tightly on his outer, orange hood.
The wind was trying to pull it down.
The man with two poles was now heading southwards.
No snow to the north then ?
The Village Church Bells rang out for five as they climbed up the beach access ramp.
9-36 by the Bus Station Clock Tower.
They headed back.
BEACH BUOY.
