Talacre is a beach on the North Coast if Wales 🏴. Its really interesting because there’s an old lighthouse with a sculpted metal figure of a person leaning over the walkway at the top of the tower. There is no access to it, but it makes it look occupied. There are sand dunes around it and then caravan sites nearby. It’s a few miles between Prestatyn and Flint and is actually on the Dee estuary I think. I hope one day to go back. X
Up the channel between the islands, rushed the tide, waves pushed along the coast, great groynes had been built to stop the long shore drift washing sand along it. Seagulls swooped overhead, floating on the updrafts, silently drifting over the heads of people walking up the salty sands, scoping out victims who had ice creams or bags of chips.
The storm came out of the West, flying clouds darkening, scudding across the sky. The wind rose and fell, rose again, howling. Churning up the sea into foam, like whipped cream, the tops of the waves were being torn off by the winds, waves curled up and over, crashing onto the beach.
A memory of Mount Fuji, the picture of it with crashing waves. That was what it was like. The lighthouse along the coast was flashing, two short flashes, then a gap as the light rotated. Seaweed was torn from its beds, wood and ripped nets were cast up on the shore. The tide rose and swamped the town. Streets were flooded. Life takes note of the raging waves.
This is all in the future. Now there is rushing water, soon there will be storm force winds.