Threatening clouds, but not cold, as we admired the scene at the estuary mouth to Poole harbour. Many boats of all sizes and for assorted purposes, ferried in and out of the narrow but deep water.

Crystal, green firment fluid, quickly deep from the sandy beach, with very little swell. Excellent swim conditions with clear water and slight volume from West to East.

Seagull swooped low and almost cuffed my ear, perhaps thinking I was something to eat, and then veering up quickly and banking to the left, with a grumble of protest.

A small, grubby boat came too close for comfort and threw anchor to give the occupants access to the beach. Swam out deeper to avoid it and struck our crossways along the large bay parallel to the sand.

Small, brown arms and legs propulse through the empty open ocean. Fear gone. Cold retreats and limbs become one with the liquid, rejoicing in the medium that threats freedom.

Sweet, salt sea that washed away all pain, heartache and wanting.