Walking in the storm with Barbara, who also loves wild weather. We are the only ones on the beach. The wind is fierce, the rain squalls frequent. Two black oyster catchers face the sea, patiently. Plump dotterels totter around in the wind. Cloud dissolves the hill tops.
Going out and meeting the weather when it turns its tail and dives back into winter: that’s the only way. I am scoured out and refreshed. Back at the bach, roast veges, eaten by the fire, have never tasted so good.