Today Elizabeth and I walked on the beach, a lonely beach empty of other people. Heavy grey skies reflected pewter in the water. A solitary heron staked out the shoreline, poised and intent; seagulls swooped and squawked and squabbled.
Up on the hillside, the bracken was turning to rust, and autumn began idly plucking the leaves from the trees.
So still, so quiet, so magical. This place of eery peace felt as though it would be an easy step through into another world if only the entrance could be found or the right words spoken.
But we could not find the magic portal, and our tongues could not conjure up the necessary incantations. We left the wild and enchanting lonely beach, retracing our sandy footprints back to the land of humans.
But if I close my eyes, I can still hear the cry of the gulls...