We could hear it before the shutters were open, the wind on the beach. Then we found miniature sand dunes on the concrete of the balcony and a dead leaf zig-zagging, scratching an urgent message in Sanskrit before hitching a ride on a frisky gust. A plastic bag caught by a rail rearing to go, in such a flap we set it free to join a page of last week's news racing high above the undulating beach, and the invisible flying sand casting a fast moving shadow stroking the beach clean. Yesterday's footprints vanished, replaced by smooth rippling wave formations, a copy of the sea. No one walking, not even the dogs. A day for the rubbish to dance.