With the sand beneath my toes and the waves tickling my heels, I walked out towards the rocks.
Sea shells are everywhere, scattered across the beach like a jigsaw puzzle.
Every sea shell has its own design, with each design telling its own story.
Seaweed lines the shore, drifting in and out with the tide and each time it brings something new.
For seaweed is like a chain, as it entangles whatever it finds.
Seagulls surround the area flying every which way.
I look to the sea and see them diving aggressively underwater.
In the whistles of the wind I can hear the seagulls call, loud and distinct, much like a child's cry.
In front of me there is a boy, valiantly defending his sandcastle from the waves.
No matter how big the waves were, he was determined to make his castle last as long as it could, I admired his resilience.
Even when but a pile of wet unusable sand remained, he kept trying to rebuild his castle, until eventually his mother told him it was time to leave.
I could tell from his expression he was extremely disappointed and did not want to leave, but listened to his mother.
I continued on my walk towards the rocks, and each step I took my feet sunk deeper into the sand.
I looked out to the sea and saw the surfers riding the waves, creating their own individual patterns in the waves.
Some patterns were more interknit then others, but none the less, each pattern was a reflection of their own artistic personality.
I looked up the beach and saw the lifeguards surveying the sea, much like how a sailors looks out into the far away distance.
I could see families and friends alike relaxing and taking in sea breeze.
Children were playing with Frisbees and footballs, and parents were busy reading books.
All was calm and peaceful along this sandy shore.
I could see children in the distance fishing for hermit crabs, eagerly waiting until they could catch one and bring it back to shore.
Before I knew it I had reached the rocks I had set out for.
I looked out to the beach and it was empty.
All that remained were impressions in the sand were people use to be, but with time these impressions went away.
The sun was setting and I could feel its warmth casting itself over the horizon for one last moment, until the light of day faded away.
Like Tales of my Life on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tales-of-My-Life/1490729464544744?ref=aymt_homepage_panel
Follow me on twitter:
@mcrone_writing
Sea shells are everywhere, scattered across the beach like a jigsaw puzzle.
Every sea shell has its own design, with each design telling its own story.
Seaweed lines the shore, drifting in and out with the tide and each time it brings something new.
For seaweed is like a chain, as it entangles whatever it finds.
Seagulls surround the area flying every which way.
I look to the sea and see them diving aggressively underwater.
In the whistles of the wind I can hear the seagulls call, loud and distinct, much like a child's cry.
In front of me there is a boy, valiantly defending his sandcastle from the waves.
No matter how big the waves were, he was determined to make his castle last as long as it could, I admired his resilience.
Even when but a pile of wet unusable sand remained, he kept trying to rebuild his castle, until eventually his mother told him it was time to leave.
I could tell from his expression he was extremely disappointed and did not want to leave, but listened to his mother.
I continued on my walk towards the rocks, and each step I took my feet sunk deeper into the sand.
I looked out to the sea and saw the surfers riding the waves, creating their own individual patterns in the waves.
Some patterns were more interknit then others, but none the less, each pattern was a reflection of their own artistic personality.
I looked up the beach and saw the lifeguards surveying the sea, much like how a sailors looks out into the far away distance.
I could see families and friends alike relaxing and taking in sea breeze.
Children were playing with Frisbees and footballs, and parents were busy reading books.
All was calm and peaceful along this sandy shore.
I could see children in the distance fishing for hermit crabs, eagerly waiting until they could catch one and bring it back to shore.
Before I knew it I had reached the rocks I had set out for.
I looked out to the beach and it was empty.
All that remained were impressions in the sand were people use to be, but with time these impressions went away.
The sun was setting and I could feel its warmth casting itself over the horizon for one last moment, until the light of day faded away.
Like Tales of my Life on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tales-of-My-Life/1490729464544744?ref=aymt_homepage_panel
Follow me on twitter:
@mcrone_writing
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