They stood in their coats against the gusts, watching the bathers out in the breakers and suddenly a wave on the rising tide forced them into a skipping retreat when it raced towards their feet.
It was, though, a diversionary tactic because behind their backs insidious fingers, foaming at the tips poked and prodded and crawled a-pace in a pincer movement across the beach.
The sea was silently filling a shallow groove it had sculpted in the sand in preparation to catch idlers on the shore, and seeing themselves about to be cut off, they had to make a hurried escape, while out in the waves, the bathers jumped and pranced among the dramas kicked up by the wind.
Somewhere else, someone else was drowning.
No comments:
Post a Comment