That day was so damn hot, I had sweat dampening my cleavage literally five minutes after I set foot out of the car. Not a common occurrence here in Northern Ireland I have to say, but I wasn't going to complain because it gave me the chance to break out my teeny tiny shorts and a little glitzy bikini top. Oh yes, I was strutting my stuff to the best of my ability on the rocky, cow turd strewn path down to White Park Bay.
He grabbed my hand and then squeezed my bum as we stepped onto the beach. I giggled and kissed him, then breathed a deep lung full of humid ozone filled air.
'Oh my God! Don't you just love the ocean Will?'
He nodded and grabbed me by the waist, his long hair flying around his slightly sunburnt face.
'You should put that camera in the rucksack,' he said, frowning at my Nikon that was now digging into both our chests.
I laughed. 'What? And miss the opportunist shots? That's how you get the best ones.'
He let go of me to empty his shoe of sand. 'Happen, the only shots you'll get on this beach are of water and those smelly cows over there.'
His dismissal of the beauty surrounding us saddened me. I turned to look at the shaggy beasts wandering the sands, some with horns, some with paltry udders, some even with little calves tottering about within the security of the herd. Almost feral in their nature, they nibbled seaweed and sometimes stood in the frothy surf or the stream that traversed the hillside and bled into the sea. They watched us from afar as I knelt and photographed their simple lives. Behind me Will was calling.
'Look,' he said, holding out a feather. 'What do you think it's from?'
I looked into his face, full of smiles and a sudden joy of all that is nature. In that moment my heart decided to imitate a guitar and his theatrics strummed a painful note.
