There’s a man walking the damp strand. I can just make him out in the distance. He lunges strangely. Is he drunk? No, at last the meaning comes into focus. He’s tossing his cap in the air and catching it again. The wind is taking the cap, fluttering like a freed bird above him, and he’s forced to stagger forward to catch the toy before it lands on the wet sand. The repeated action has a jauntiness. Once, twice, three times, he tosses the hat and catches it joyfully. At last, he tires of the game and walks on, disappearing around the headland.