out of reach, out of cry

pentacost sunday, bergen aan zee. it was perfect "beach weather": the afternoon storm had subsided, but the damp and the drizzle kept the crowds to a minimum, and most of the adventurous were walkers instead of sun-worshippers. the usual
seashore paraphernalia was present and accounted for, albeit glistening in the rain, and largely ignored. stretched along a mile of coast were poems-on-poles, each singing an ode to the expanse of water washing coldly onto the sand at our feet.
by the time the sun broke through, we were sipping chilled wine on a beach pavilion, and, before threading our way back through the verses, we watched hundreds of holidaymakers swarm hopefully over the dunes to the waiting waves.