Robert is in Japan. It's the first time we've been seperated by an ocean and it's an odd feeling.
He forgot to take his toothbrush.
Gasping, half-drowned in sand, it rests, frozen, until the next wind-blast makes it dance. Perhaps its ability to dance in a storm, is one of the reasons why it survives.
Grass in the sand; bulrushes in frost; thistles in snow.
I turn my back to the headland and return home. Tomorrow I head inland. As far from the sea as this island I live on, will allow.