Pliny's Holiday (end part)

I soon cheered up when we arrived once more at Moonta Bay. My companions decided to walk as far around the bay as the lighthouse, which looked like a very long walk indeed. You go, I said, and I shall potter here upon the sand. The tide was in but there were little islands of red-tipped samphire on which birds were standing. And I wished to make an inventory of shells.

I soon had a small collection of delightful molluscs. Because it was a holiday I had decided on a theme, and only picked up shells of reddish-pink, with the exception of two mussel shells that were bluish-purple, and a small orange winkle. The reddish-pink shells were gastropods of the type called Painted Lady, and bore designs of such intricate beauty one could scarce believe they were not painted with a brush.

Next I turned my attention to the birds. The birds seemed unafraid of me, and allowed me to approach them on their pretty islands. I identified gulls, sandpipers, pelicans, and sooty black oystercatchers with bright orange beaks. But the tide was rapidly going out, and they soon flew away.

My companions returned at last, claiming to have almost reached the lighthouse, which I did not think possible in the two hours they had taken, but of course it does depend on what they meant by almost. Together we ascended the metal steps to the top of the low seawall, and were surprised to hear a kind of natural music coming from them, created by the wind.

And now it was time to head for home. I should like to stay in Moonta Bay, I said to my companions. I believe I could find enough to do here to fill my days. But they looked very dubious, and pointed out that what seemed charming on a holiday might soon become tedious as a way of life. And so we set off to buy some lunch.

On the way home we saw a great fire billowing black and white smoke into the air at Paskeville, and people running to try and put it out.

At Cavan the salt heaps floated upside down in water that was tinted rosy pink.

And here I fell asleep.