The miniature gaiety of seasides

Everything crowds under the low horizon
Steep beach, blue water, towels, red bathing caps,
The small hushed waves' repeated fresh collapse....

Glorious day for a ride along the coast to Bexhill. One of my favourite bits is Bulverhythe, where all the beach huts are coming back to life, people drinking tea and painting and sitting in the sun. All so bright with so many details, it reminded me of a Larkin poem.
There is nowhere on earth I'd rather live than here in Hastings; I feel truly blessed (do atheists do blessed?)