Three Wild Swimmers- Liz

Coldingham Beach towards St Abbs- Allan

Kip Rock -Jan

Footprints in the Sand- Heather J

shore of glist’ning grains

lapped by weed fringed foaming waves

footprints in the sand.

Kip Rock- Sue

The Wave- Edna

Catching the Wave- Edna

Sunday morning, heaven, buttered toast is in the air.
Pages softly turning, by the hands that hold them there. 
I can get excited, I can start my whine;
I know that this is my day, a walk come rain or shine. 

Boots and jangly extras, gathered by the door,
Stockinged feet and jackets, biscuits, bags and paws.
I can hardly wait to leave, I'm spinning round and round 
Hungry for my freedom, seaside sights and sounds. 

  Now the journeys over from the kitchen to the beach,
Sand and glistening water, so close within my reach.
Car door opens slowly, far too slow for me 
Flying high on salted air, I'm bounding for the sea. 

I hear nothing save the whoosh of wind that whips my ears,
Plunging headfirst in a pool as splash! a ball appears ...
Switching route, I run to greet three ladies in a row
I shower them with doggie love, they give my ball a throw. 

Muddled legs of all proportions dance, reverse and run,
Ignoring calls to hear our names we're having too much fun! 
Weave and dig, escape, return, take a comfort break, 
Dive again, a newfound friend, a different ball to take. 

On and on they try and catch my salted dripping legs, 
But I can fly, and, in my bliss, I ignore yells and begs.
Turning quick I spy a route I haven't taken yet
When all at once my lead is on, caught like a fish in net. 

Now I'm splayed out on the rug, my legs are running still.
And even though my eyes are closed, I reach the beach at will.
As roasted lunch pervades the air, their papers softly rustle, 
While I still bound upon the sand, with every fiery muscle. 

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