I’m walking along the beach. It is not just any beach, it is my beach. Of course not really but I call it my beach, because every time I am at this place there is nothing else but the beach and me. I’m walking in the sand, barefoot. The salty water is cool, but not cold. With each step I leave a footprint in the wet, grainy sand. But it doesn’t last for a long time because the next wave overflows it soon, takes it away into the wide ocean.
The wind is blowing my open hair into my face. The smell of the ocean, the water and the seaweed mixes with the smell of the shampoo I washed my hair with this morning. I almost run into a jogger who is coming towards me with his walkman in his hand. I haven’t seen him coming because I am walking backwards, watching the red sun sinking smoothly into the ocean. For a short moment I’m wondering what kind of music the jogger is listening to. I pretend it is the soundtrack of Titanic.
I can hear it without any technical equipment. I can hear it because it is in my heart. There is the sad melody of the sinking ship mingling with the sound of the waves. A seagull is crying as if it wants to say, “See, this is my beach. I live here.” I look up to it and nod in agreement, maybe with a little bit of jealousy that it is the seagull and not me who lives there. I feel a sudden pain in my left foot. “Aua!” I say aloud with anger in my voice.
I look down on the ground to see what it was and my anger is suddenly washed away like my footprints behind me. The little thing that is lying in the sand, that hurt my foot when I stepped on it, the same little thing brings now a smile on my face. It is a shell, not bigger than my fingertip. I bend down to pick it up. It is full of sand and I wipe it off on my skirt. The outside is not really nice. It is black and green with white spots on it, lime or something.
The Essay on Sounds, Sights And Feelings At The Beach
... small snakelike trails in the sand just beyond the sand castle before getting to the ocean. It appears that a ... crystal clear water from the ocean, you see thin, snakelike trails in the sand left behind by the gentle ... no longer a problem, the comical relief from the beach ball hitting you in the face has changed ... Imagine walking on a soft, moist bed of white sand. The cool breeze is gently blowing, the ...
But when I turn it around, then I can see the beauty of it. It is a shining white, and sometimes, when you move it in the last light of the day, it changes its color into a light pink or blue. I put the shell into my bag to all the other things I have taken away from my beach. I actually have my own little beach in my bag. There is sand and shells and even a small bottle of water, ocean-water. I continue my walk along the water.
It is getting dark now and the sky turns from a light red to pink and then to grey. The sun is gone. It left this place full of peace, but it sent the moon to guard over it. It has been fullmoon just two nights ago and the moon is still round and big. It is looking down on me now, smiling. I smile in return, happy to be here, happy to have been able to say goodbye to the sun at my beach.
I sigh and wrap my jacket tighter around me. Then I turn around. It is time to go back home. It is time to say goodbye to my beach. But I am not sad about it, because I know it will always be there, waiting for me to return..
