A cold day, barely stirring from the season’s frozen grip. Wrapping up warm, the freshly washed strand beckons me. I slither down the boat ramp on to the beach. On the sand, winter’s jewels shine in the late sun. Seaweed is silver with frost, and the rock-pools are solid again. Delicate patterns trace their way across the surface of the ice. Nestled on the kelp lies a small treasure. This morning’s gentle tide brought me a gift. An intact sea-potato, carried in on gossamer touch.