Grey end to this dark year

Cricieth, North Wales There was no horizon, no distinction in the grey tonality, no dividing line between sea and sky

A drab December greyness. I scrunched eastwards along the shingle, heading towards Black Rock. Foamy salients threatened to swamp my boots. My little terrier Phoebe darted in and out of the wavelets to retrieve sticks.

Here and there I paused to watch a raft of scoter (Melanitta nigra) offshore. Their dark shapes pulsed up and down on a smooth swell.