The sand is so cold; the ashes of winter fall through my fingers. The tide is almost at my feet now, it crept up so fast. Where has the shore gone?
The wet sand is shifting beneath my feet. Before me the sea rages in constant motion, reaching out forever, never still. The steely blue water, the turbulent tides. Behind me the beach fades into fog, lost in the pale mist.
I remember the time my brother nearly drowned, and the summer Michael and I spent here before Marcus was born, when my hair was as yellow as the sunlit sand. Now I stand under an iron sky, the clouds moving while I wait at the water’s edge. This is no way to celebrate life, dressed all in black; our life together was full of colour.
Marcus is waiting for me in the car, and this thick, black coat offers no protection from the cold coastal winds crashing against me, but I cannot bring myself to leave. I know this is the last time I’ll see this beach, and though it’s a dark winter’s day, I see more than the bleak blue-grey waves. There was colour here once, and there will be colour here again, not for me perhaps, but here nonetheless.