A morning walk. Three men looking for lugworms and me.
It’s low tide but turning. On it’s way out stones were dragged across the sand, the sea taking what it could.
Springs further up the shingle erupt and run down to meet the ocean.
Marks are made in softer sand taken to the sea with the tide. Grooves trace their paths. Sculptural forms branch like roots.
The wind is blowing causing pools to ripple, making their own marks below.
I wonder what marks I would make in the sand if I lay down in the water when the tide was heading out.
