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Forty years of holidays have taught me the sky owes my family roughly six summers. This collects. Feed it the grey beach photo — same wet dog, same brave smiles — and the day is re-issued under the weather you were promised: proper light on the faces, shadows with edges, a sea with some self-respect. The people don't change, which is the point. You were having a good time; the sky just refused to document it. Tweak: 'golden hour, one hour before sunset'.

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