I was eleven. I remember the feel of the sand between my toes. I was walking, early in the morning, on a particularly desolate stretch of beach. The sun was warm against my back and the ocean wind combed through my hair. The tide was tickling the shore, leaving it’s trace and then retreating backwards, I did enjoy to watch it. The sun was high, and a stark contrast to the deep, cloudless blue painted sky it was set against. I went to sit and watch the sea playing its game, teasing the sand, and sat for a timeless while, just observing. Eventually I lay back and fell to sleep. I was so ignorant of time, so opposed of any measure of it, so totally seperated from it, and I will not pretend that I do not wish that this feeling was retrievable.
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