Part 9

We raced the weather down the motorway

and won. We had time to set up the tents

and roast hot dogs on the fire before the clouds

rolled across the charcoal sky, bringing

biting winds and three days of rain. The storm

sounds like a symphony on my tent roof.

The rain and the hail and the gale force winds

all playing their parts; thunders drumroll is

my favourite part.  On the third day we

peel back the door – returning to life. We

make the most of the empty beach. We start

collecting the gifts the sea has given

up, the sea glass tiles smooth by the waves and

the sea-bleached driftwood you dragged from the shore.

 

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