Perfect timing

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faithless

The rain had cleared the coast;  the sea was that wonderful translucent faithless Atlantic colour, neither blue nor green, which gives you fair warning;  the wind had partly dried the pebbles of the steeply-canting storm beach.  Time enough to sit and develop a damp bottom, and let the waves wash out the inside of your head.  Walking back to the car, small drops began to plit into the puddles again.

(Click through the gallery if you like waves)

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