Creeping grey

We returned to the reserve and estuary this morning, a few hours after high tide. Such a transformation, not so much at the water's edge, but further inland, among the tall grasses and reeds, where many miniature swamps had formed. Thankfully the dogs stayed clear of these, as well as the sand, as it was far too muddy; the threat of rain adding to the grey meant that sticking to a well-trodden path of flat grass seemed a much better idea. Again, the rain held off until we were near the car. We've been quite lucky this week and only got soaked once.

This scene, indeed the whole place, always makes me think of the Pete Townshend song, "The Sea Refuses No River" (from his 1982 album, All the Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes, fans of music trivia), so that's likely to be playing in my head all day, but I can think of plenty of worse songs to be tormented by.