A powerful storm raged at Battery Point.
On the headland, a lone figure leaned into the wind, hardly able to stay upright in the full force of the gale.
Sheets of near horizontal rain blew across the salt marsh. It stung my face and blurred my vision, but I could still make out a small fling of dunlin. These featherweights were battling hard against the wind and progress was slow. But then they turned and let the wind sweep them out of sight at breakneck speed.
It was hard enough for me to stand up to the wind. So I admired the tenacity of these dunlin to make repeated flights across the tops of the surging waves. It must have been exhausting, or perhaps they were just more skilled at wind surfing than me!
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