A lone Harbour Seal, hauled out on the point, surveys the steely, pre-dawn stillness expectantly.
The sun languorously rises from its slumbers and peers, bleary-eyed, over the horizon...
...to suffuse Newtown Creek with a rose-pink glow.
The glow hardens to a white-gold spotlight, as the sun climbs higher. It picks out, raucous, Barnacle Geese, hunkered down in the sedge.
Black Headed gulls cackle and posture; like Mummers strutting a Village Green.
The tide glides in silently...
....covering the teeming banks and shoals.
A black hulled lugger spreads its tan wings, dragonfly-like, and ghosts, on a zephyr, between green fields.
Oyster Catchers take to the water, dagger bills poised.
Yesterday evening, Stargazer rode a fair tide and a, south easterly, jolie brise (F4), to bring us to this haven of birdsong and tranquility:
Past the recumbent, pyjama striped, cliffs of Colwell Bay, we flew;
Past the tall finger of Hurst Point, with the tide boiling under us;
Past, the bulldog squat, Fort Albert, and into the Solent.
We sound into Newton Creek,as the setting sun paints a crimson exclamation mark across our anchorage.
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Location:Isle of Wight