Beach Buoy hadn't felt great for much of the day.
He went to bed around 1p.m.
He woke at 5-30.
He still wasn't right.
Maybe he shouldn't have gone out for a second walk?
But then the thought had crossed his mind about the clocks going back soon.
G.M.T. starts as all hope ends..
So rough or not he decided to make the most of the dregs of summer's end lightness.
He and Another Dog reached the access ramp at 6-16 p.m.
A man with an orange coat and two dogs came up the ramp as Beach Buoy and Another Dog went down to the beach.
It was an evening of pale milky colours.
A strong wind blew snaking sand in the direction of the Headland.
The tide was well out. Another Dog sniffed at a driftwood stick.
They headed south.
A man with a dog had came onto the beach just after they did.
He headed to the sea, the dunes, the south and north!
FREYAYE
had written her name in the sand
TWICE.
Presumably with a Beach-found stick.
Another Dog sniffed another driftwood stick.
Gulls paddled in sea water pools.
They headed to The Sandy Slope.
6-45 p.m.
"Evening Mate."
He located the wobbly driftwood plank.
He drank a wobbly coffee, more wobbly than usual.
His hands had the shakes.
Seacoal strips lay on the beach, they started opposite Stubborn Dog Stack, running South.
The driftwood plank was almost a chair this evening.
The strong wind acting as a back rest.
"See you mate."
If Beach Buoy ever returns as a Ghost then this will be where.
Light was already fading.
Seafront lights twinkled.
Familiar flashing light sequences came and went in the bay.
A slow walk back.
As they headed to the van, an empty drinks can rolled in the car park. It sounded like the worst marching band ever.
Footnote.
Beach Buoy is ok now.
BEACH BUOY.
