High summer on the Isles of Scilly is all about a state of being rather than doing. Keep it simple and you can't go far wrong. We often sneak in a post-work beer on these beautiful days when the sun is still high in the sky at five in the evening. We hopped aboard our boat and went a-looking for a corner of beach to call our own for an hour or two. But honestly, everyone seemed to have the same idea as us. We opted instead to pull up onto a sand bar revealed by the low tide.
A cold beer for Steve and a cool swim for me is all that we ask on a day like this.
I love this central trail of white shells along this beach. Mother nature at work here.
These footprints remind me of hieroglyphics.
Bridgette Jones would be envious of these legs that go all the way up to here.
The tide had turned and Steve said he wanted to sit in the dinghy until we were washed away. But first, I wanted to see how quickly the tide would maroon me. The following shots were virtually only seconds apart. I could hardly believe how quickly the tide flooded in.
For a millisecond I had my very own tiny of tiniest islands!
And this was us, floating off on the tide.
Soon this entire sandbank would belong to the sea again. We and the seagulls were evicted from our temporary tenancy, the rattling of shells the next incomers on the tide, adding to nature's decoration.
The sun sinks behind Bryher as we tootle gently home. Time for Steve to run the dog while I rustle up some dinner. Summer is my favourite time.
Anna x
