walking between sea and shore

I have established the computer by the upstairs hallway window where I have a view of screen and sea, a shag like a black cross passes, and far I see the low sloping hills of I'm not sure where, Findhorn or Portmahomack, across the North sea, and waves of course, unkempt thick grass and stones. Though most of the view is sky, white and blue. Blue clouds. I can see a curtain of rain over the sea. I wonder what fish make of rain; more of the same, or a sweeter water, a drumming interlude?
The rain of earlier this morning has stopped. I will walk. Take note. Return and tell.

My first sighting was of three people; two women and a man, dressed in battle fatigues or is that hunting fashion, under the bridge down by the river fishing. I didn't want the dog to see them and get entangled so didn't linger on that sighting. But hoped they wouldn't catch the huge salmon I saw a week ago under the bridge.I walk round to the beach, feeling the end of summer in the ragged thistles and the blackened nettles. Bracken has overtaken anything else on the slopes. Still green. Just flecks of yellow autumning the land. Out over the sea I spy a silver blade. And further on down to my little beach the blue green oyster plant is still printing the sand. I sit on a rock and find feathers at my feet, black and white, oyster catchers. A gull and I watch the sea. I strain to hear and see beyond cliches. So much has been said about the sea - waves crash, wind sighs, tides turn, gulls cry... My sitting here today by the sea is surely fresher than the worn out phrases. Or does experience and language go hand in hand? I know it has been said, and often, but today the sea sparkles. Later I sit on a bench and look down the sweep of the bay. The scene strikes me suddenly like a dress - blue skirt, white hem, tan boots, white hair. If I was a designer I'd make clothes like this. The wind moves from the sea to my face, parts my lashes and I'm hoping, having just leafed through a woman's magazine studying anti-aging creams that this sea air batting over me might just do the job. So the walk, the return, the reflection.
Night now, just returned from the harbour. Folks out just watching the sea, watching for the salmon leap. Often I see huge silver fish fling themselves out of the river, even out of the sea. Everyone we ask standing knee deep in the river angling says they are only catching midges yet the fish are there, big and beautiful. The end of August and the nights begin their slip inwards. Getting dark by nine. Then stars out over the water. Stars and salmon, silver in the sea.