The plink of water as it drips from your paddle and the seawater is thick like the green glass of an old bottle. Beneath the surface, a jellyfish drifts in lace tatters and spins slowly like a pale and distant galaxy.
Overhead the indigo and teal of the sky seep into a smouldering orange that roils at the edge of the world.
The wind is still at the end of the day.
Only the sound of your breath and the surf. However, it is quiet enough, so you might even hear the noise the sun makes as it first slips into the brine:
a faint sizzle
or a distant sigh.
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