That big moon is pulling back the loveliest of quiet tides here. Stretches of low tide like I've never walked in Brighton. A hint of my home beach of Crosby, made more precious because this will be hidden for weeks, months, maybe years.
The wreckage of the burnt out pier felt almost close enough to touch. Knee deep would have had us standing side by side, if only I could have braved the icy sea. Here's the adoring crowd at sunset. It felt like an event to leave the stones behind.
Rewind back through a walk that has etched itself on my memory, wherever I keep it. This one, I think, is sepia tinged, like walking into bright sunlight watching all the colours become one. So good to feel such happy knees and ankles that could have strolled a coast forever in a space that hung out with the sky, room for every solitude away from the gathering.
Below the house, closest to here, it took my breath away. Remains of an old jetty look like another group of people paddling. I like the trick, but it's wood turning to bleach back and wave form. No-one there except me.