The wind bites hard as I step onto the beach. I stop, pull up my hood and Tim offers to do the snaps for me. We walk, head down into the wind. Waves rush upon the shore in a loose meringue, then deflate and retreat. My heels dig deep into the loose sand and I think virtuously of what a good workout this is.
A tangle of bull kelp, bleached yellow, lies forsaken under a driftwood log. One red arbutus stick waits lonely on the wet sand until the next high tide when it will again be carried off to float elsewhere. A tug boat chugs through the choppy water, the sound of its engine lost in the rush of waves and wind. Sere, faded grasses scratch against each other above the beach. I would stop and check their bases for any hint of green renewal, but I'm too cold. I pick up sea glass, white and green, smoothed by the tumbling water.
Home again for tea and chocolate. The scent of chicken roasting in the oven dispels any lingering trace of chill. I am replete with contentment.
Linking to Mosaic Monday, hosted by Mary of the Little Red House.