As children we walked the dog on storm tossed beaches, feet crunching on slipping stones as the wind snatched at coats and hair; leaving us elated and breathless in equal measures.
Hands stuffed deep in pockets, and shoulders hunched, we stomped headlong into the gale; watching wild eyed as wind and waves hurled cloud and spume in their wake ... roaring as they raced towards the shore.
This was the sea at its best, wild and unstoppable; crashing and smashing against restless stones, smoothing rough edges of ever shifting shingle, creating banks and hollows in which to find shelter from wind blown spray.
Sometimes we would stumble upon strands of seaweed and mermaids purses, flung up from the depths and marooned on the shoreline. We would run in the wind, dragging them behind us like glorious tails; or fling them at one another; until the game was no longer a game, and we too had become as wild as the sea.