Seaside thoughts and sandy feet…

Such a lovely Saturday afternoon, we went to the beach at Llanbedrog. We flashed the Trust card at the attendant and walked down the sandy steps from the car park to the beach road. Such a dark road, overhung with sycamore and chestnut, dark and gloomy with its cool, green, stream, until that blind of light as we stepped out of the trees by the beach café on to the hot sand.

Changed but still the same – tropical beach huts and windbreaks, that cottage we used to dream of owning, the tin man, forever looking out to sea high on the hill above. Remember?

The tide was on the turn, the sea far away in the distance a line of shimmer. We walked towards her, avoiding the mud, stepping on worm cast castles as we slopped. You can walk out for miles at Llanbedrog, the gradient’s so slight - wade when the tide’s in.

Reaching the water’s edge, flat, rich blue, speckled with boats, we paddled side by side alone, feet wet and cool, sand oozing between our toes - each lost in our own old seaside thoughts.

You never did like the feel of sand on your sandaled feet, even the white sand in Barbados. An old man with a straw hat and fish strolling along the beach that first morning, that fallen palm tree, the water’s edge, tiny fish darting around our toes, red, blue, yellow, black. We never did catch any. Remember?

My sunny seaside thoughts.