The crows stride as they seek interesting titbits amongst the seaweed. The skitter and stop, skitter and stop is the oystercatcher, and those daft herring gulls sitting at the edge of the retreating shore, jumping up to avoid the swell of the breaking waves: bob, leap, take-off, settle, bob, leap, take-off. Sudden tiny movements draw the eye to a robin picking and mixing, and a sudden mob of perhaps hedge sparrows arrives, twitters, and leaves. The curlews I could only hear, not see - evocative sound.
Never a dull moment on an afternoon when sun, rain, wind, and threatening snow all pass as I watch the life around me. The little cove is at Rockcliffe, almost empty in this off season - empty of humans and cars, but teeming with other life.
There are so many shells right up near the land edge of the beach, masses whole and mounds more in tiny bits, not yet ground to fine particles. And then sand, a sudden line of division, both surfaces strewn with seaweed.
The tide going out reveals delightful stands of grass on plinths of sand and earth among the rocks. Good hunting grounds all round for those who seek.
Further out of the Urr estuary, in the Solway Firth, there is Hestan Island with its Alan Stevenson lighthouse, and definitely non pc named feature of Daft Ann's Steps.