Sunday, February 13, 2005
Sand blows past the Sand Dancer
Sand was piling up fast on the grass near Fort Apache and whistling along past the flats over towards the river. The sea was breaking over the harbour defences here and there but nothing too serious: thrill seekers could park their cars and risk a little rust without any danger at all. It had been a rough night, wet in the town but snowy anywhere higher, which saved a spate in the river. The swans were gracefully demanding their bread and pretending to empathise. The last Sunday Telegraph had been sold in the Harbour Street stores according to an annoyed friend.