If I could bottle and sell this walk, the sense of calm that I feel as I emerge from the wooded valley onto the beach, the sound of the birdsong, clearer and richer than I've ever heard before giving way to the hush and rush of the waves, I'd be a wealthy woman.
The tide is quite high on this, the day of our final fling on our favourite beach until the Autumn. Alone, but not lonely.
We walk as far as we can, the dog chasing ahead to make sure there are no seagulls in need of a good talking to, before returning to remind me that it's high time I started throwing stones into the sea.
We turn and head back, and I marvel at the fact that we are the only ones who have seen the beach exactly as it is, in this moment. The pattern the waves leave on the shore, the configuration of the shells, pebbles, seaweed and other debris that marks the tideline.
Already the sea is washing away our footprints, imperceptibly shifting stones, reshaping sand. By the time the next visitors arrive, certainly by Autumn, it will be a different beach - although hopefully the same.
Roll on October.