The Salty Groyne

I walked down the wooden steps until the path met the grey pebbles of the beach. Standing upright in the stones was a weathered timber post, worn smooth by the tide. I paused, letting the cool sea breeze ruffle my fur. Wedged neatly near the timber base was a fresh ribbon of brown seaweed, beaded with round air pods. With both paws, I gently pressed one glossy little pod. It gave a faint, rubbery give under my touch, perfectly firm and cool. I sat down on a flat, dry stone beside the timber, keeping the tide company in the morning quiet.