Beach Comb

A glorious evening with clear blue skies on an empty beach. Life is good. Then my phone goes and work plans turn out to be in tatters. On the beach I find a weather beaten, sand worn branch, strewn with tatters of seaweed. And I take a fuzzy photo of it.

A storm of frustration rages for a while. But above it all the sky is still blue and by next week the tempest will be replaced by calm and the waters will have forgotten the anger of the previous week. The seaweed tatters will have been washed away.