The sun hits the water and bounces off, doubling the amount of amber light that hits the rocks. The water is silvery on top, shimmering between silver blue and pale gold. When it rushes into its arcs it shows a brilliant bottle green before it crests and crashes white to foam up the beach and grab your ankles. This is the time of day the sunbathers go their own way and the sun worshipers come to say farewell, staring reverently at the descending orb as it blazes away down the horizon. We stand still the while, just watching. A silent community of strangers all united in a sense of wordless awe. The air gets colder but no one moves to leave till the last of the gold has faded to more subdued pinks and blues. In the falling darkness the people are shadows, not unlike the columns of cobble stones and cement. The rock stacker has been here. Building monuments to this place. Finding balance in the heavy discarded pieces of foundations and roads. I build my sand castles around the bases of these columns. Little cities. I'm still sculpting sand while the rest of the sun-setters take their leave, drifting back up the cliff into the encroaching gloom. The stars come out to take up their vigil. I stay till the marine layer pushes me home to the warmth of tea and blankets.
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