Because Sunday morning, just after 9, was about as good as it gets for me. A big, fresh, take-my-breath-away stretch out into clear saltwater. The sand was grainy on my soft winter feet and it took me a good few minutes to build up the courage, but out I waded, laughing till about my hips then under I went. It was cold and deep and not too rough, just what my yoga-sore body needed. I floated and ducked and splashed for a bit, taken as I always am by that shock of it, the sea. All around you and part of you at the same time, when every movement feels full of grace.
Bronte was a busy mess of people, none so pale as me in last year's bikini, using the newspaper to shield my face from the sun as I couldn't find my hat. And I didn't rinse off before driving home, just dried out in the morning sun and all day my hair was curly and a bit wild and I could smell the salt in it. It was wonderful.