A campsite in Wales by Eva

A campsite in Llangennith (Wales)

My special place is a spectacular campsite in Wales with a golden sanded beach stretching for miles and an azure sea glinting in the shining sun. It is a place I go every year and it is amazing place too. Huge golden dunes shelter the beach, rising above it, protecting it. The sea dances with currents and waves, promising adventures and fun. Cold water rocks backward and forward, dancing spray in singing wind, towering waves crashing onto the shore. An island at each end of the long stretching beach overshadows it. A mountainous hill looms above the campsite, ferns and grass lushly growing. Wild horses dot the hill, loving the amount of grass.

Glorious smells fill my nose; the salty tang of the sea, the sharp scent of the freshly mown grass and the sweet aroma of the wild heather, resisting the fierce wind. Wild flowers let out a beautiful scent, sweet fragrances dancing in the cold air. Roasting food on barbeques reminds you of human company. We always have barbeques there, sitting on the heather, looking out to sea, while eating smoky vegetables, piping hot.

Sounds ring the air, the singing wind, the sometimes whispering, sometimes crashing waves, making their presence known, and the lively chatter of contented people. Wind whines round the caravans, such a strong powerful wind; even able to rock a sturdy camper van! We sometimes go down to the beach to fly our kites, to watch with amazement as the wind grasps them and whisks them away, spins them through the air, rustling the cloth on their outstretched wings.

 The waves lap at the shore, calling to us to join their dance, to let them embrace us, to whisk us away in their cool arms.  A grasshopper chirps nearby.

Salt lingers on my tongue, drying my mouth as pure cold wind carries the taste of warm food on it. My sister and I would beg my mum for money to trek of to the little campsite shop, where we would buy an ice-cream and, clutching it protectively, we would run helter-skelter to the beach, and once there, we would devour it happily.

Cold wind whistles round me, numbing my skin, as warm sand clings to my arms and legs, coating me while the long grass tickles me. Waves wash against my feet, immersing them. Sand trickles down the dunes onto my shoulders. A cricket jumps onto my leg and stops to inspect it. My hair fans out in the breeze, which caresses my face.

My memories of this wonderful, beautiful place are riding the waves as they crash around me, of walking up the great hill, to the wild horses and watching them trot around, completely careless, sighing when the littlest foal approached me nervously, and stood a solid weight against my side, whinnying contentedly. My favourite memory though, is running along the warm sand, hand in hand with my sister and best friend, blissfully aware that I was always going to come back, as this place was my second home, my world…

By Eva