If
there exists anything more expressive of delight than Dog, freed of her
stitches, head cone and lead, galloping through seawater, I should like to
experience it. It is a step past my imagination.
Her
fresh scar is bright pink in the cold salt. I take my boots off. The sea has
sharpened its teeth since my last paddle, the first bite of winter fastens to
my feet.
A
lady with a bouncy terrier stops to tell me she thought I had pink Wellingtons
on, until she saw the boots in my hand. She can't get down to loosen her laces
so easy these days, she says, so best get your feet wet while you can, eh?
Submerged
in the sound of the surf, watching the running Dog, shivery foam on the tide
line, waves that flow in long and shallow, the pearlescent prettiness of
reflected sky; feel the icy sting on wet bare skin. See the rocks that the gods
of geology fold up like a causal sandwich.
Get
in my car, the heater works. Dog sleeps on her sandy blanket.
Comments
Wishing you and your loved ones, a most peaceful weekend.
Gary
Lils, I love that picture of you, all windswept and intrepid.
Here's hoping the fight in Coventry went well!