Kicking my shoes off

Clear skies and a warm offshore wind made a trip to the beach idyllic. A trudge over the dunes through coastal scrub brought us onto a pristine beach stretching to the lighthouse on the right, but our purpose was shell collecting along the rocky shore. It's years since I've been beachcombing and it was good to feel the grit beneath my feet and paddle in the rock pools with the sun warm on my back.
A shore break sent rollers crashing onto the sand with the pressure of the trapped air bursting out in great plumes of spray, with accompanying thunderous roar. It's a wonder that any shells survive intact after sweeping across the rocks in the daily ebb and flow of the tide, yet handfuls of delicate beauty soon found their way into a receptacle to be taken back home and added to the collection I started as a child.
The water was a warm 18 degrees, a far cry from the 8-10 degrees of the Atlantic back home, and if I had packed a costume, I  might have persuaded myself to take a dip. Or not.