… a whole collection of watery and airy things. For once I manage to capture birds – one a camera-flirt to rival my great niece, even going so far as to sit on my knee. He also attempts to kidnap my scone, a very good one: he has discrimination.
There are plenty of sounds as I amble along the boardwalk: the throaty satisfaction of the pelicans as a fishing boat approaches; the croarrr of seagulls; the insistent ringing of invisible bell-birds; the lazy midday quarking of crows; the cello-coos of doves in the bridge superstructure; the metallic tap of walkers' shoes; the occasional whirrrr of an an approaching bike; the excited cry of a boy when he spots seals: “Mum! Look what I found”; and behind it all the continuous noise of traffic on the highway. Signs provide amusement, history, and an idea for a future walk.
The tide is heading towards low: colonies of sea urchins, indicators of healthy water, are easy to spot, nudged up against rocks. Ripples, oyster-encrusted rocks, the blue green under the bridge, even the mud and sand-patterns are all jewel-like.
Which brings me back to Fabergé, in case you're wondering. The stroll along the board walk began as an adjunct to going to the movies, to see Fabergé. Screening was cancelled because they'd sent John the wrong DVD, so I took my Fabergé where I could find him, along with many other treasures.