So I hope you'll forgive me if I'm a bit silly tonight.
On the White Rock railroad track, last week:
|A sliver of golden hillside, reflected.|
Down at ground level, this way, I remembered ... Sixty years or so ago, I put a copper penny down on that track, just ahead, around the bend. The train flattened it so that there's just a hint of lettering left. The trains went faster, in those days; the experiment, repeated now, nets me a squished penny, still identifiable.
I just went to look. After all those sixty years of peregrinations, packings and unpackings, I still have the penny.
|A more conventional view. Looking east, towards the pier.|
|Looking west. Someone has lit a bonfire on the beach.|
And now, goodnight!