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Anglesea, Wales
by R L Tilley

Here is Benllech on Anglesea where we stand on the sand as a wild wind blows from the Irish Sea and watch a tanker, far out, plying for Liverpool. We walk the dogs there, upon the firm, wet sands and on what there is of a promenade. The sea, grey and mad, tumbles up against the sea wall and leaps in columns of salt and spray onto the footpath and us.

A holiday girl in a raincoat , yet hatless, walks back and forth getting drenched and glumly delighting in it. You see, she is unsmiling.

It is the kind of sea, wild, powerful, treacherous, which will pull you over the wall and out into the undertow. A blissful sea, I say, which informs us of our pitiful tiny fragility in the world we never truly know. I am in awe of such seas and perceive in them a terrible beauty.