Ebb Tide

The sound of seabirds carries on brine-tanged breeze, as they gather in anticipation of the bounty about to be revealed by receding waves. Strands of seaweed swirl at the water’s edge, struggle in vain to avoid becoming beached. Waves surge and retreat, surge and retreat, slowly ebb across the shore. Sunlight twinkles off perfectly sculpted wormcasts revealed by the departing ocean, glistens in the eddies of transient pools. I slowly weave my way seawards, feet squelching, gripping to form a drunken-sailor track across wet sands to where the whisper of foam bursts between my toes.

 

Low Tide

Morning sunlight twinkles on exposed sand, as transient water wicks from between its raised ripples. Ever-increasing flocks of seagulls and waders prowl and probe for prey taking refuge, trapped beneath the surface. The crackle of drying bladderwrack pops on brine-tanged breeze, as a cloud of seaweed-flies flicker and flit around the stranded clumps. Slate-grey rocks, encrusted with barnacles, gradually lose their lustre to the drying of the day. My meandering footprints skip across the water’s edge, appear and vanish as whorls of wavelets erase their passage.

 

Rising Tide

The tide turns with the sun’s steady passage, its withdrawal halted by the inescapable force of gravity. Sunlight twinkles on resurgent surf that sweeps across the foreshore, washes it clean as evanescent spoor succumbs to the sea’s soft caress. Seabirds skitter up the strand and take flight, plaintiff cries echoing on the brine-tanged breeze as their seafood smorgasbord submerges beneath the swelling tide. My tortuous tracks, truncated by this insistent advance, now tell a mysterious, incomplete tale of aimless wanderings.

 

Full Tide

In lengthening shadows, the horizon is haloed in blazing vermillion, yet sunlight twinkles still from becalmed breakers rolling gently under the dying light. A brine-tanged breeze, warmed still by the heat of the day, manifests a tinny rattle in the rigging of beached boats, dragged to safety from the sea’s grasp, ever wary of her fickle moods. Replete, the seabirds depart, save a single sentry that languidly soars over the bay. It sounds a mournful farewell to the coming night. Water strains at the boundary imposed by tidal limits, fails to reach the pristine, silver-soft sand, all strength spent. No evidence now remains of past footmarks, swept clear as a fresh canvas.