Last swim of the year.

I think last year the final swim must have been around the end of October, just cold enough to ice the ends of my toes.
This year, it may have been the end of September on my last visit.
I swam at seven in the morning when the water appeared to consist of ink blue and iridescent turquoise, silk strips; the morning star and crescent moon hanging in a never-ending expanse of dawn sky.
Collecting a pebble from the beach to add to my 'number of sea swims this year' jar, I walked up the hill to then drink tea, sitting on the front step of our flat.
I watched the late summer swallows weaving and dipping, and tried to recall what the same street was like in January when the Tramontane wind swirled leaves and pine needles from doorways of holiday homes, and the harbour railings sang their mournful four note lament.

Add-on to post - last swim was actually here (next photo) in October, in the poetically named 'beach of no troubles' which it was - completely empty apart from another woman swimming, and someone fishing.