WPC: My local beach

One of the grandest luxuries of my new home (well, fourth year running) is our local sandy beach. It is 12 km long and less than 2 km away from home. Since it is a part of WWF Nature Reserve, it is wild and in the off-season mostly deserted, if you don’t count optimistic off-shore fishermen.

Sometimes there are even parents, remembering their childhood expeditions. Lovely to see.

But first, a short end-of-the-week reminder of my posts in the last seven days:

  1. First I showed you my cake and mom’s ikebana, a lovely start of my parents’ visit.
  2. As H2O goes, sometimes there is plenty of it as below so above and then they merge – images of Talamone before the storm.
  3. I decided to hop on Monday Windows challenge to bring you some doors, pardon, windows of Piran.
  4. Our successful autumn feast hopping had a special wooden discovery – a Pinocchio in waiting.
  5. And on Thursday there were three door images from each of the five towns we visited.

And now I invite you to my local beach. How I would have laughed years ago in disbelief if somebody had told me I’d have one.

Photo: a © signature mmm production

In response to The Daily Post’s weekly photo challenge: Local

Advertisements

16 Comments Add yours

    1. SMSW, you’d be amazed how little I was swimming in this sea this summer. First, the sea was cold for the looongest time. Just when it got warmer, we went to Slovenia. When we returned, the beach was occupied, and then it got a bit too cold again. 😀 A spoilt beach dweller, that’s what I have turned into. I guess it’s enough to know it’s there, like most of my books…

      Liked by 1 person

      1. True. When I lived in Nice, France, I had thought I’d be swimming every day… instead, I only went a couple of times!

        Liked by 1 person

  1. Wow, what is that? I’m jealous, Manja. 😄

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hihi, Markus, jealous of my sand? 😉 But there is enough for everybody!

      Like

      1. but this one looks special! 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

  2. I’d like to be there for a ride with my dog, me too.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Always welcome, Mamie! 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  3. This is my idea of a dream place to live.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh, Claudia, sounds lovely and feasible. 🙂 Just to clarify: I live in a row of summer houses a little less than 2 km inland. I can see the sea but only from the roof. The only way to reach the beach is to take the asphalt road. No shortcuts, it’s all very private property. But there are nutrias in the fields, and sunflowers, and cattle, and mom and daughter horse to see on the way. Nothing to protest over, except possibly hunters. But I did that already.

      Like

      1. I think you are truly living in a paradise spot. Going to the beach for me means a 75 mile drive and then it’s a welter of tourist shopping, boardwalk, people, people, people. Ugh. When I was very small, early 1960’s, my family went to Florida (a two day drive from our house) and we had the beach to ourselves, almost. Like a dream I have always remembered this, and your photos reminded me.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. Judith says:

    A nice mix of family photos and artistic minimalism. The photos of just sand and sea give a real sense of warm sand and cool, rippling water.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, Judith. I’m glad they give and make sense to you. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  5. lexklein says:

    Lucky you! I’m closer to a beach now than I was 9 months ago, but not as close as you are! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh, yes, Lex, I know I am. 🙂 Hope you can get a bit closer.

      Liked by 1 person

Talk to me

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s