Sandy Shore
A south-facing stretch of fine pale sand that holds heat. Warmer than the surrounding coast in ways that have never been explained.
The south-facing stretch at the bay's bend holds heat for a reason nobody has bothered to explain. It is sheltered by a bluff to the north and the water is noticeably warmer here than two hundred metres along the coast in either direction. Fine sand, pale, running to dry gravel at the tide line. In summer, teenagers from the nearby settlements drive out on weekends and lie there pretending the sky is not the colour it is.
The character of the shore changes as you move south. The rock and shingle that defines most of this coastline softens, becomes something almost Mediterranean for about three kilometres, then returns to type. Fishermen know the exact point where it shifts — there is a bent-over pine at the bluff edge that marks it. Nobody planted the pine there. It has been there longer than anyone can remember, and it bends inland rather than seaward, which is not the way wind shapes coastal trees.
A container washed up on the sandy section this summer. Sealed, military stencilling partly worn off, no manifest number that matched any port registry a volunteer diver could locate. The harbormaster logged it and contacted the relevant authority. The relevant authority has not responded. The container remains above the tide line, acquiring rust, waiting for something.
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