I did take one lone walk on the beach. It was around dusk one blowsy, misty, dreary evening. The wind was howling in from the north, at a good forty knots, parallel to the shore. It was high tide, and waves were rushing in fast and furious, with spray blowing off the crests sideways. The waves were in a confusion with the strong cross-wind,tumbling and tripping over one another, some running straight in to shore, some breaking in on an angle with the wind.Time and again they topped the normal high-tide mark a bit, to fill shallow pools above a steep slope of sand on the flatter sand above.
These pools had their surfaces stripped of their foam- blown off like the head from a beer- it piled up in pulsing gelatin masses on the lee side of the pools, some of it virgin white, some of it sullied by sand. The wind stripped some of this foam loose in little masses that would run and tumble on down the beach, like little white creatures set free.
The sand would get in my eyes if I looked into the wind, as it streamed along the beach. Each little shell fragment formed the nexus of a little landscape feature, together formed myriad miniature buttes as the drier sand streaked the darker, damper sand like blonde streaks in a woman's hair. You could hear the sand, like a sleet on frozen snow or window, or a soft shimmer of grass skirts on a hula girl..