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Sunday, 3 July 2016

Seaside Sunday.

At certain times of the year the tides and currents move and a causeway opens up .It goes far out into the sea.
You can walk out over purple and vivid green strands of seaweed a long,long way.So far you can see round into the next bay.
Boats and yachts are yards away.
You can stand next to a man with a huge hand net catching his tea.
Solitary walkers are lost in their own thoughts like me but as we pass we nod or smile.Its greeting and mutual appreciation for the place
I breath ozone and salt into both nose and mouth.It clears my head and fills me up like a good dinner.
The slap and jump of waves.The wind ebbs and flows.
Your hair is blown about and there's the clink of a few shells in your pocket.
I think you get it too.

1 comment:

  1. I heard Peter Cushing on the radio today, and he (is now dead) was talking of early morning walks across the miles-wide strand of Whitstable bay. I once rented a house on the beach there, and bumped into him at around 5.00 am one Summer morning. We just said 'hello' to each other. You reminded me of that time.

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