Weymouth, sheening sea in the winter sun

A perfect winter's morning at Weymouth yesterday, after a quick spin down by car ("Spinning down to Weymouth town/ By Ridgway thirstily"). No cider on this occasion, just a mug of tea on the Esplanade.

"Ah, my soul, Budmouth! I wish I was there now", exclaims the half-Corfiote Eustacia Vye, in Thomas Hardy's "The Return of the Native", after Diggory Venn has said of Weymouth (Budmouth):

"a wonderful place- wonderful- a great salt sheening sea bending into the land like a bow."

That's how it was yesterday: "a great salt sheening sea".

Hardy used to swim at the spot "on the pebble beach towards Preston", where I like to go in the summer.

Hardy, on Eustacia (of the 'pagan eyes'): "Where did her dignity come from? By a latent vein from Alcinous' line, her father hailing from Phaeacia's isle?"

"A winter sea and not a summer sea"? Weymouth through the eyes of John Cowper Powys.