by Victoria Moss

Created on: July 26, 2008   Last Updated: July 30, 2008

A gusty, wintry day spent indoors is pleasant enough, especially when basking in the warmth of an open fire. But those of us who enjoy nature's surprises and the challenge of the elements are often tempted to leave the comfort of the hearth and venture forth into the ferment.

The weather forecast had predicted increasing wind. I began to feel restless as the boughs of the plum tree brushed their purplish tips against the windowpanes. The dark foliage swished back and forth and back and forth as the tree bent to the will of the wind. The yearning to be unfettered, to walk with the wind, swelled inside me.

The dog leaped up from his fireside slumbers and barked a warning as a bough crashed against the roof. I laughed at his alarm and told him to settle: he heaved a sigh of disappointment and padded back to the hearth.

The door rattled as the wind strengthened. I stood at the window, gazing out, admiring the gymnastics of the trees' motion. I felt increasingly edgy and the wind was beckoning impatiently.

We had to walk, the dog and I. The wind was summoning us down to the beach.

There were no cars parked on the esplanade. Sensible people were snug indoors. others would be hurrying to shelter. The sea was a wild thing that day, grey and angry and throwing up sheets of spray. We sniffed the salty air and the dog, released from his lead, barked with yelps of joy and pelted down onto the deserted sand.

I pulled my coat more tightly around my body and marched with shoulders hunched, following his bounding form. Seagulls on the stone wall teetered forward, trying to maintain balance as the wind threatened to upend them and hurtle them into the sea. They squawked their displeasure and flew off to find shelter. The excited dog jumped and pranced and barked his delight as a gull swooped low over his head.

The beach in winter is something special, particularly on windy days. Without people dotted along its length, it seems pristine, primitive, wildly beckoning! And the wind gives the sea character: it is not a stretch of water that is simply there - it is putting on a magnificent performance, even though there are few to watch!

I picked up a sea-smoothed length of driftwood and swung it around my head and into the waves for the dog to "fetch." But no, he planted four feet in the swirl of foam and watched as the stick was engulfed. Grinning his wide dog smile, he waited until it washed up next to him, then grabbed quickly and dropped it my feet, shaking his wet coat vigorously to

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