It's not like you'll be alone when you get there, but it's always worth a shot. For the record he said the water was warm. I stuck my hands in and he was right. He's always right.
Tuesday, 28 June 2011
Noon on third.
Low tide is when you catch all the treasures the sea can hold so close to shore. Clams. Mussels by the thousands. Beautifully tumbled colored glass. Pretty shells. Ripples so deep and perfect you trip over them as the beach grows exponentially, stretching out in front of you. Your blank canvas, your home. Your own personal exhalation, distilled down to tiny grains of glass, seaweed and salt air so thick you can cut it with a knife.
It's not like you'll be alone when you get there, but it's always worth a shot. For the record he said the water was warm. I stuck my hands in and he was right. He's always right.
It's not like you'll be alone when you get there, but it's always worth a shot. For the record he said the water was warm. I stuck my hands in and he was right. He's always right.