A FEW days ago, I watched as my two youngest daughters swam towards the setting sun at Gullane Beach.

It was the end to a beautiful and uncharacteristically warm day. The beach was still busy but obviously not as crowded as it had been during the day.

It was the kids' idea to go for a swim. They love the sea, and an evening swim is a great way to get “healthy tired” before bedtime.

Not a day goes by that I don’t give thanks for the privilege of living by the sea. When I lived in the Czech Republic many years ago, I quickly realised how important the sea is to our mental health and wellbeing. I missed it so much, it was a kind of heartache and yearning, the smell and sound of it, the sense of connection it gives. The Czech Republic had lakes and rivers, of course, but it was never quite the same.

I think it’s because the sea is a primeval need in us. We came from the sea and it still draws us back. The 'seaside' is part of this magic, whether sandy, pebbly or rocky, it feels like a transitional zone between our habitat now and what used to be.

I watched my daughters as they swam and splashed together, and a passing couple noticed my gaze. They paused for a moment to see what I was looking at.

“Seals?” they asked.

I gave them a smile while shaking my head.

“No, my daughters,” I replied.

The couple apologised for mistaking my daughters for wild animals, but there was nothing to apologise for. To be fair, from that distance, their small heads did look seal-like.

“I think they are selkies,” I remarked.

“Selkies?” asked the couple, not sure what I meant. I could tell by their accent they were originally from somewhere else. So I took a moment to explain what a selkie is.

“A selkie is a creature which is a seal when in the water, but when it comes to land, can take its coat off and becomes human in form. There are lots of selkie stories, mostly from the Orkney Islands, but the stories have travelled, just like seals. There’s a famous statue of a selkie in the Faroe Isles, for example, although there she’s called a seal-woman, or Kópakonan."

They didn’t actually ask me to tell a story, but it seemed an appropriate response to their apparent curiosity, so I told them a short selkie tale. They seemed interested; well, they didn’t walk away.

Then they told me they were Ukrainian and told me about a water creature from their folklore tradition called a vodyanyk (I asked them to spell it, so I’d get it right.) This creature seemed very different to a selkie, who are always portrayed as beautiful when in human form. In contrast, the vodyanyk is grotesque and frog-like, living in swamps.

There I stood, for perhaps five minutes, with half an eye on my daughters swimming in the sea, while I shared folk-tale traditions with two people who I didn’t know.

The sun was beginning to set, creating a stunning backdrop to our encounter.

Then they sauntered off and my eyes returned to the sea, where my daughters were still swimming. I watched them for perhaps another 10 minutes. Their laughter carried on the breeze. Moments like this are laced with golden magic, all you can do is immerse yourself in it. Life rarely gets better.

But soon it was time to go and, with great reluctance, they came out.

As we headed home, the sun vanished below the horizon in a blaze of drama.

“I love living by the sea,” said my youngest.

“So do I,” was my heartfelt reply.

If you live next to it, the sea is one of the few luxuries which is free, and East Lothian is a treasure trove of such luxuries, no matter the weather.

I appreciate it every day.

I just wish we looked after it better.