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.