We bailed Skye out of the dog spa, all fresh and shiny and with a new shade of white. She demanded an almost immediate walk to the beach. We had a little rain last night, and they weather was overcast and misty, but moderately warm, rising from the high 50s to the low 60s
The floating Trump ad was out off the beach, checking his crab pots.
Skye and Georgia came back to tell me that . . .
Whitey was still here. Actually, when we went down the beach he wasn't, but on the way back he was. I didn't see him in the harbor on the way down, so I don't know where he was hanging out.
Quite a few shells from Horseshoe Crabs on the beach. I knew there was a major molting period in Fall, but I thought it was usually earlier
Georgia made this impromptu sculpture by lining a bunch of the shells up on a washed up branch.
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