Within 15 minutes of leaving the marina, an eight-foot wave slapped me off my feet.
I shouted in exhilaration as I braced for the deluge, then sputtered as the wave slapped me in the face.
Green waves slap black rocks.
Boats are creaking in the wind, waves slap against the pilings, and then I hear it, too, the distinct thunk of boots on wood.
I lay face down like the blond woman and tanned myself for ten minutes or so, listening to the tiny waves slap against the side of the raft.
Part rock garden, part sound sculpture, the 2,700sq-ft 2,700sq-fton features PVC and concrete pinstallationpture the sea's otherworldly rumbles, groans, and whistles as waves slap against, and push into, the underwater openings.
Along the banks everywhere are benches and railings and vantage points from which to watch tugboats pulling and pushing their loads; to hear the chopping waves slap against the shores; to smell the saline hint of open waters just beyond the concrete edge.
Once part of the Lord and Burnham factory complex that manufactured greenhouses, the painstakingly redone Red Hat is so close to the river in Irvington that when the wind is up and the waves slap the shore, their icy spray covers the riverside path to the restaurant.
Soggy Exmoor is "a sponge squeezing itself, a waterlogged lung"; a new-born goat-kid is "rickety as a stool with a leg too short"; rain hitting his face is "the wave-slap of an angry sea"; a jet topping the horizon is "a cat mounting a fence".
The wrinkled waves slapped the sand and retreated.
