Tuesday, 7 July 2009

Red flags

Made for this wind surge, the gull and the windsurfer are in their element, surrendering to being carried. 

After the heat, the beach is back to being a wilder place. Red flags are up. The wind wrecks your hairstyle and I'm dozing in the sound bath spray, warm enough to be barefoot, bare-armed. 

The foam fades back into the rattling stones, like a fast frame film of snow melt in a high field.