SeaShore

The heat is visibly bouncing off the white sand. I am sitting under the shade of a tree, rubbing the fine sand beneath my feet, toeing it. I grasp a handful of sand, and the tighter I hold, the faster the grains escape between my fingers. I gaze at the sparkling sea—at its vastness, its horizon. The sun is round as ever, an immaculate hole in an azure sky. I lay flat on my back and close my eyes. I hear the waves crashing on the shore, while birds caw from a nearby boulder. I sit again, cross-legged like a yogi, eyes still closed. The warm wind blows, plucking the braches of the trees like a mystical lyre. The luscious leaves above me rustle. Everything around me seems to be chanting for a nymph. Even my very heartbeat and breathing join the ancient choir. Wonderful and tranquil, nature‘s music is. A kamikaze insect lands on my skin—blood on my palm. I stand up, do a bit of stretching, and swim at the freezing, salty sea.