I picked up a shell on Weymouth beach. Not the usual, touristy end of Weymouth’s beach, far to the left, or right, depending on which way you are facing.
The sand on Weymouth’s central beach is said to be as good as any sand you’ll find for building sandcastles, but as you wander along the beach with the view of Portland over your shoulder the sand turns to a mixture of small pebbles and shells.
Of course, I’m guessing you know me well enough by now to know that a pebble beach to me is treasure beneath my feet. Within minutes I’d found my shell and as I clasped it tightly in my hand, a smile travelled up to my face.
Ok, so we’re in Weymouth again. Have we moved yet? No, unfortunately not, but we’re so close now it’s hard not to hold my breath.
If I hold my shell up to my ears I can hear the sea inside it, “One Day” is so close now I can almost hear the seagulls when I close my eyes.
More from before: various visits to “Weymouth“.