Flakes of snow blown on the wind brush my cheeks. I seem to be the only one mad enough to step out. The sea is low today, exposing an unexplored stretch of sand. I wend my way out to it, tiptoeing through shallow rockpools and slippery seaweed. Newly washed sand, arc after arc bending round the bay, with only the prints of birds on it. Out to the edge, where water meets land, poised on the boundary. On the cusp of the tide, the waves lap at my boots, gently caressing them. I stand and stare and breathe a while, drinking in the peace. Taking in the the music of this place. Then, tracing my solitary footprints, I head for home, winter’s song singing in my ears.