I had Gelert in the car with me, and we'd been visiting a client out near Newgale. Because it wasn't raining, I decided we could have a quick run on Newgale sands, and pick up an early pub lunch there before seeing another four clients in the afternoon on a route that curved back and ended up with us at home.
The beach was, well, my Nan always used to call it "bracing" when the wind comes straight off the sea and through your clothes to your bones. There's a big pile of pebbley rocks -- man-made sea defences -- and then there's sand, stretching out to the sea. The waves were rushing in fast as if they had somewhere else to be and breaking with a rush and falling back. There was absolutely nobody else on the beach, and very few prints. Sometimes in winter there are some lunatic surfers in the water, but not yesterday. Gelert barked and put up a seagull then went running down towards the wet sand.
I followed along behind, up on the packed sand that was still dry. I was cold, but that doesn't seem to bother Gelert. I was about to call him, to turn and head back to the nice warm pub, when quite suddenly the wind ripped the clouds apart over the water, showing more clouds, but up beyond that, blue sky. For an instant there the sun shone through, like a spotlight. It illuminated a yacht out on the sea, which I hadn't even noticed was there before, a little yacht with a white sail, sailing west in that sudden sunlight on water that wasn't grey any more but green, just as if it was summer.