I'm alone on the narrow strip of beach that's left thus far untouched by the incoming tide; all alone except for Sasha. She was sheared today, except for her head and tail; and looks like a good looking but emaciated lion.
A sand-coloured crab runs crookedly-straight across my vision.
The tide is angrily trying to get me, I still have some leeway though: not sure which is going to get me first, the tide, the dusk, or the approaching fiercely-beautiful storm?
It's my first alone time today, my artist-writer needs it.
We - me and the elements - are turbulent. But free