The magical space between high and low tides is one of my favourite places.
Twice a day the push-and-pull of the sea brings discoveries. Glass floats. Fishing line. Driftwood. Shells. Seaweed. Broken bottles. Litter.
On one recent trip I found a nearly complete shell of a red rock crab. In life it is mostly red, except for the black tip on each claw. But the open, empty shell is worthy of a painter’s palette — red, orange, yellow, mauve, brown, white.
Who would have guessed?