Started out as a blue buoy, now it’s just a fragment. Dashed in the surf and scrubbed in the swash, swirling sand has worn its once jagged edges smooth. Its surface now scoured clean of the encrusting community it gathered at sea. I wonder, how many nights bobbing adrift? How many mornings awash in the strand?
Where did this buoy come from, and what violent forces smashed it? Every drift line find has a story. If you love walking the drift line, wander over to my Wrack Line page.
