The Beach

The sun was going down. I stood along the pier with all the tourists, my camera hanging around my neck. But in my own little way, I wasn’t sightseeing. I was there as a visitor, watching in plain sight the beauty before my eyes. Not a cloud in the sky, I watched the gulls dip into my camera lens as I clicked the button. The woman next to me sat up her tripod, and was changing her lens to change the color of the sunset. Purple...green...a more intense red. How ridiculous to the natural landscape.

A gull took off, obviously feeling the same offensive emotions. The beach was so smooth and the water clear. Why change a thing? I left the pier, and standing at the water’s edge I closed my eyes and listened. The sounds of children playing, of parents packing up their towels and people admiring castles made of shells and sand. It’s so much to take in, my senses push into overload. The only thing missing is the man I love.

How much I wish he could be here with me. Of course, he’d be complaining about the sand...about the sun spots in his eyes. But I miss him. I am so used to seeing his smiling face that it aches inside. Six days feel like an entire year. I watch the waves lapping onto the beach, and I can’t help but feel the tears sting my eyes. All of a sudden, the couples seem to multiply into a thousand. They are all loving, arms intertwined. Even my grandparents sit on a bench holding hands.

By now, the sun slips behind the clouds, disappearing like sugar into the ocean. I’ve taken an entire roll of film, and the air turns cool. All of a sudden, I feel sleepy. I’m ready for home.