There is a particular time, when the tide just pauses for a moment, as if considering whether to continue drawing in or to begin to recede. There is an opposite time when the tide is as far out as it can go and it seems to hesitate, as if dithering on whether to inch out a little further, or begin to return to land. This particular time only happens when there is little or no wind, and all is calm, and it is especially noticeable when there is a certain light in the sky, at dawn or at dusk. It’s almost as if everything is holding its breath.
This particular time occurs in a couple of my novels, in Farholm, on the island off the shore of my imaginary town of Easthope, in Night Vision when Beulah is walking along the shore line with her husband’s cousin, worrying about the state of her marriage. I’m not sure I quite capture it properly, the strange quality of the light on the sea, the curious almost plasticity of the water, the pregnant hush in the air. I’m sure I will write about it again but whether I’ll be any more satisfied with the words I choose, I’m not sure; I think it takes a better writer than me to completely capture this very particular time.
Lois Elsden 
Being from the mountains, even though I went to the seaside on several occasions, I never experienced this particular moment you so well describe. Your writing is beautiful, words well chosen. One can feel or imagine well this moment. Any writer would have his own way of telling of such a time, I like yours very much. Thank you.
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Oh thank you, thank you for your kind words.
There must be some marvellous and special mountain moments though!
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