The icy wind wraps its fingers around your neck then runs them up through your hair, knotting and tangling the strands around themselves. Sand pale as snow sweeps past as if in a hurry. Suddenly it stops and the sun dances along your shoulders offering brief but absorbing warmth. The sand picks up again flying like strands of ribbon across the firm, wet but brown carpet underfoot. Rain has brought out this multitude of neutral shades before us.
Not a soul in sight the beach is our canvas, the westerly our inspiration. Mohawks of spray are thrown up against the slate coloured sky. I close my eyes and open my lungs to inhale the crisp air deep into my chest. If I listen carefully I can hear my soul sighing with relief as the oxygen breathes new life into my veins. Beaches are for summer days many will say, but this beach has a personality like no other, welcoming you through beauty unrivaled.
Seagulls brace themselves against the wind and the clouds race over head as if they need to be somewhere else more important. Up close, on the surface of the sand the windswept image is one so serene and untouched, it is hard to feel the chaos of life.