The wind had settled into a thin chill breeze by this evening, giving us almost sole possession of the beach. Within half a mile this offered:
Blonde invisible pools (into which I bumbled)
Space and light
Purple black sand
and more sand lace
Thrift, determined to flower one last time as its clumps raft down to the beach and final destruction
and red cliffs
with a white shingle beach lying before them.
This one is for Emily Davison.