Having all of my senses intact is, I realise, my good fortune. It means that as I walk along the beach with Major I feel the different textures of sand beneath my runners: hard wet sand, dry loose sand, sand spread with a carpet of soft seaweeds.
Meanwhile, gulls cry, oyster catchers utter eerie calls out on the reef, waves crash onto sand, and then slide back into the bay. The air is cool and fresh, with just a hint of salt and seaweed.
There's a rhythm along the seashore, of tides in and out, following the phases of the moon. With that rhythm comes the feeling of time; of timelessness.
On hot days I relish the feel of sand between my toes and sun on my legs and arms. The ocean is usually too cold for me to feel tempted to swim -- I'm happy to paddle up to my knees and leave the swimming to Major.