|... on first arriving at the water ...|
Perhaps that is because of the shared joy of a quiet secluded walk along the beach.
On Sunday I met a man who asked where I was from.
I asked where he was from.
|...the rock is under water, water so clear ...|
He said he was born in Victoria, as was his mother.
“Must suck,” I said, “to be born somewhere where there is no better place to go.”
We continued to walk along the beach.
|... this is the only duck of my usual 30 on the beach ...|
His heels were pushed into the sand and he laughed, and pointed to a piece of wood that was a pillow for his head against the rock.
I had seen him duck down as he had walked down the beach, and kind of look up at the ivy covered cliff there.
I wondered what he was looking at.
|... more of my beautiful beach ...|
I walked along the beach, watching my feet and then my head knocked into a tree that has grown out laterally over the water instead of up to the sun.
I have seen that tree before.
Even photographed it.
|... seaweed left by the tide on the beach ...|
Rebecca thinks I am going to get two black eyes over it, since there was immediate bruising in the inner corners of my eyes from my glasses.
I think the bluish colour there is only temporary