We traipsed down to the beach slowly after Maddi woke from a late nap. We were in lazy meandering mode – the Sunday afternoon kind. The girls raced each other on the sand and collected shells and pebbles. Waves were danced through, sandcastles built, then gleefully jumped upon. Eventually Maddi had had enough and made a run for the hill that leads back to the car park and the beach trip was over. I, however, returned later, leaving the girls with Alex and made my way back down the same beach track wearing my daggiest (but oh, so, warm) old black cardigan and my camera around my neck.
Others had the same plan: They set up tripods; laid out blankets and arrived with pizza and steaming coffees from the local takeaway. We were all there waiting for the show to begin. We were waiting for the Super Moon - the full moon that is the closest to the Earth.
I clicked away at the waves for a minute, marvelling at the blushing pink of the sky when I caught a flash of light in the corner of my eye. A tiny segment of moon shone through as a cloud shifted and I sucked in my breath at the surprise of its glow.
I stayed at the beach for about an hour, until all blushes of sunset faded into black, but the waves shone brightly still. I gently felt my way through the moonlight, back up the sandy track to my car and smiled as the moon followed me home.
I'm glad I waited. It was quite a show.