Beach night

The beach stones are thousand-year smooth, grey light grey when the clouds clear the moon, black as the night when the misting returns. The sky-black sea crashes foam white at its border. If there are voices, they are distant, both in place and time.

against the flow

the only person on the riverbank walking away from town
the only person with no dog or a rugby scarf
he holds his shopping bag tight and swinging slightly
See? I have a right to exist. I have every right to be here.