The sea varies so much. Sometimes it's the colour of a CD, sparkling silver in the sunlight. Sometimes it's millions of different blues, matched to frost-white spray and waves. Then the bleak, white water of a winter's evening at the beach. The sea is so different every day. Maybe that sounds weird, but when you love drawing and writing, the two arts that require description, you notice these things, and want to tell people about them. Sadly, not many people are interested. But the chattering of the pebbles as the waves wash over them, crashing like nature's drum-solo, it's hard to believe that there are people who don't care.

The End

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