It was a calm, silvery sea at dusk. There was hardy a drop of wind and the air, for April, was warm enough. It was near silent on the beach, just the distant voices of a couple walking in the dunes behind.
I’d hoped the sun would have been a little more intense having raced across Anglesey to get to the beach, but everything was delicate and muted. From the sea bed, remnants of energy pulses from ocean storms thousands of miles away finally reared up and gasped a last breath on the shingle shore.
I stood on some low rocks at the waterline and watched the sea tide slowly come in around me. Every so often a rogue bigger wave would crash over the rock and I’d lose sight of my feet in the white foam. Against the brighter surface of the sea, these little hillocks of water looked dark in their own shadows.