There was no point in dashing to the beach for the sunrise.
It was still foggy.
It was 6-20 a.m. when they headed down the access ramp.
Sea pottery.
I'm a ....
They headed south.
The fog had claimed The Headland and the bay's Wind Turbines.
The 7 a.m. club approached.
They chatted.
The 7 a.m. admitted that the fog was he fault.
He had begun to wear shorts.
6-42.
"Morning Mate."
Beach Buoy added some stones.
He patted
THE
stone.
Blabbermouth.
Fog-bound Gulls.
Beach Buoy sat and drank coffee as damp air blew onto his face.
In time...
" See you mate."
They headed back.
The Skylarks still sang.
The lady who walks the full length of the beach did just that.
Back to the beach.
A man walked his Labrador.
The Beachcombing Border Collie Couple walked and talked their way south, stopping and stooping for finds as they did so.
Team Muzzled Dog passed by.
Distant waves were shared.
Unusually Muzzled Dog trotted over to say hello.
Beach Buoy gave the big friendly dog a stroke.
Plenty to spare now Mari has gone.
Did the dog know?
Who knows?
Back at the van, a birdwatcher looked out over the Little Tern nest site and into Fog.
BEACH BUOY.
