at our beach, at our magic beach
My favourite spot. Nestled in amongst the glowing red and honeycombed rocks, the turquoise water tinkling close by. Cardigan dropped within moments. Cross stitch on my lap.
Sea birds gather. Small black ones duck and dart amongst the gentle waves. Every now and then one catches a fish and must frantically throw back his head to choke it down before it escapes. The seagulls preen and strut, fighting over the perfect perch. Right near my spot, the surfers enter the water. See how they have wetsuits on? I don’t have a wet suit and despite the best of intentions, when that first wave splashed my knees, it was sooooooooo cold I dared not go in, lest I developed an atrial fibrillation!
Then, after a lovely long sit in the sun with my Christmas cross stitch, a fierce wind comes up as the clouds darken and stomp across the sky! What was tranquil and gentle becomes stroppy and impatient. Within moments, those sweet baby waves are rushing up the sand to catch my quilt. It’s time to retreat.
And yet, by the time I’ve gathered my things and climbed back up the hill, the clouds are looking sheepish, declaring they didn’t really mean it. The wind drops a little, as does the sea. The silly seagulls forget their earlier quarrels and dance loopy dances in time with the wind.
Such a magic beach.