An evening visit.
The Village Church Bells rang for 8 p.m.
as they reached the bottom of the beach access ramp.
The tide was heading out.
It was bright and breezy.
The breeze blew from the north west.
An Elderly couple walked their black and white greyhound on a lead.
A Dad and lad headed north.
The lad beach combed the strand-line as they did so.
Beach Buoy and Another Dog took aim at the big slope.
"Evening Mate."
Beach Buoy added some stones.
He patted
THE
stone.
It was 8-23.
It was meant to be a touch
THE
stone and go visit.
Beach Buoy sat on the driftwood wedge about a metre long.
It was too nice not to stay.
Beach Buoy thought...
How in January he would wish he could sit for five minutes up at the stack on a warm and light evening.
This was those five minutes.
He savoured everything.
Skylarks.
Sand Martins.
The Little Terns dropping into the sea in front of him.
The warmth of the Sun.
On the beach below, a man walked a Waggy Spaniel as far as the tide would allow.
Maybe they were from January too?
They stood to leave.
Back to January.
"See you mate."
They headed back northwards passing July, August, September, October, November and December all on the beach below.
Another Dog led the way back to the big slope.
The slow walk back.
It was still June after all.
BEACH BUOY.
