Suddenly the rain catches us, swirling in on the squall between the dunes as the storm makes land, soaking us quickly.
Read MoreMIDWINTER AT SKER
Ice on the rockpools and salt in the hail that lashed across the black shipwrecking hooks of Sker Point. I shrank into my coat, tugged my hood over my eyes and retreated.
Read MoreLAPWINGS AND TIGERMOTHS
Here in the duneland, no rain for a month. Every day now, soon after dawn, the sun’s heat is hurried to a pitiless blaze and the sand burns the air to golden dust. Dragonflies thrive. They materialise beside us like digital updates from paradise, messages alerting us, alerting us – then gone.
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