The rain comes from that fabulous sky, from those broad beamed cloud-stacks; raindrops like pouts, cover the sighing earth in wet prints.
Bordering on stormy, we note, and retrieve the garden chairs from a short wind powered journey.
The waves may be lively… why, it's been a whole day since last we were on a beach.
A plan is not quite made, it only unfolds.
Espresso pot babbles: we can't find the lid for the pink flask. The silver thermos will do.
Who needs a table when there's a flat rock waiting?