The kinds of windstorms I have here on the West Coast pale in comparison to the windstorms I get in Oxfordshire, but a windy day is something to be celebrated anyway, so off to the beach we will go.
Just up on the verge the brave little crocuses grow short and hug the ground. The wind is not their playmate.
But it is mine. I love to feel the wind on my cheeks and in my hair. I love to hear the crash of the waves.
I have lots of company and fellow wind lovers on the beach today.
The wind gives me a mustache…
…and places lots of treasures in my path.
The wind whips up medusa tendrils…
…and crashes waves into the pier.
All in good fun