Thursday morning.
No dog.
Up on The Esplanade.
The lady who once fell off her bike headed south on foot with her companion.
A cyclist passed by.
"Morning."
"Morning."
Beach Buoy headed down the southernmost access ramp.
Beach Buoy headed to the sea.
The tide was well in.
There was a wind from the north.
The sky was overcast, the sea under cast.
Beach Buoy collected five suitable stones.
The ex-army man headed back north with his Border Collie.
"Morning."
"Morning."
No long chat this morning.
Beach Buoy waited for the 7 a.m. club to catch up.
They walked and talked a while.
They agreed that it was a beautiful day.
The blues.
The greys
The whites.
They went their separate ways.
Beach Buoy headed to the low level route.
The sea was rough.
At times it hid the horizon.
The Beachcombing Border Collie Couple headed back to the North.
Gulls hung in the breeze like kites on lengths of string.
It was clear that someone had been to the stack.
The driftwood plank with plenty of rust had been upended in the dune sands.
"Morning Mate."
It was 6-55.
Beach Buoy added five suitable stones.
He patted
THE
stone.
He replaced the driftwood plank with plenty of rust.
A seat once more.
He sat.
As it should be...
He sat thinking Beach Buoy thoughts.
"See you mate."
He returned to the beach below.
He headed back.
He stopped to chat to half of Team Muzzled Dog.
They went their separate ways.
BEACH BUOY.
