Richmond beach at sunset

The seaweed in pieces, like so many exploded balloons, in purplish reds, greens, white -  as if some grand celebration had taken place the day before

The driftwood, scorched white by sun, scoured by sea until smooth

The sand fleas, disturbed, leaping into a million directions like small fireworks

The sky clear, with only the most elegant thin line of cloud, like a heron stretched in flight

The rocks on the shore, shaped like dark avocados, looking like wet sealskin

And the sun going down, so that suddenly the air is chilled with the loss of light and everyone turns to go home.