Low tide.
Murrells Inlet.
We ate at The Claw House.
Then walked out to the end of the fishing pier.
It was chilly.
Ollie was being a punk.
There was a guy with a Gulf of America cap on.
Pelicans flew.
Other birds sang.
Every now and again a fish would jump out of the water.
The sun shined.
The ebb.
The flow.
×
