. . . taken from Joseph's sketch book . . .

No matter how high I would roll up my trousers, they always got soaked, as the waves rolled ever inwards faster than I could run.

Evening from the sketchbook

Sitting on a rug that was always covered in sand despite my best efforts, trying to read a book while the wind turned the pages for me.

Storm Clouds from the sketchbook

. . . memories . . .

Shrimping from the sketchbook

Big sky, sun on the water, and the call of oystercatchers.

paddling from sketchbook

. . . memories . . .

The Beach from the sketchbook

. . . memories . . .

Approaching Rain from the sketchbook

. . . memories . . .

Low Tide from the sketchbook

While my brothers were busy making amazing sandcastles, I used to wander along the beach with my bucket, for what seemed like miles, looking for shells and other treasures that had been washed up by the sea. When I got back to my brothers, I would then decorate their castles with my shells.