With a sudden gust, the hat blew off his head and sped on its brim away down the beach. The painter watched it go, brush raised mid-stroke. Should he chase it, or snaffle it onto his canvas? He could leave it to the whim of the breeze, or let the waves take it. But the boys were running after it, their sea-sprayed limbs shining like toffee, and the girls, too, with billowing tunics, and in the end, the sombrero was there in the painting, but out of sight, a creature of the wind with laughter in its wake.
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