Early morning walk

A repeat visit to Rough Island, this time at 7:30 in the morning.  A soft haze drapes over the landscape, where sunlight pierces through like a gentle promise. The causeway to Rough Island lies barely exposed as the tide sweeps in, like a temporary bridge between land and sea.  Footsteps echo faintly against the stones—one man, two children, and their dog make their way across, laughter and barks carried by the breeze. The tide, ever watchful, begins its swift return, curling in around the edges of the causeway with surprising speed.

On the shore of the island, the children throw pebbles into the sea, while the dog bounds through the shallows, sending up fountains of silver spray. The man stands nearby, silhouetted against the shimmering water, his gaze half on the children, half on the tide as it rushes back in with quiet determination. The sea glows under the rising sun, the sky a pale wash of grey-blue, and for a fleeting moment, all feels suspended—time, sound, and busyness—on the thin thread of morning light.