Walking along not just any beach but a beach that I fell in love with as a child.
Nostalgia flows through my body like the blood in my veins, as I hear the laughter and cries.
Each cry with a different emotion attached cries of excitement and cries of worry to ensure that their guardian is paying attention to them, wondering if they noticed how proud they are of their new achievements.
Building sandcastles, walking an extra step further into the sea as they feel the new sensations of the waves and seaweed against their legs, the soggy sand, and sharp shells beneath their feet.
I look down at my own feet feeling the sand glide through my toes as I walk along the beach that is as familiar to me as the back of my hand.
But like the back of your hand, you will always notice a new wrinkle, scrape, age spot, vein pattern.
Like the back of my hand, I noticed something on the beach I had never noticed before...
The beach is like a canvas, unique paint made up of each footprint placed there by the brushes that are the feet of all the people who had visited the beach during that day.
Each of which tells a different story full of happiness, loneliness, love, death, new memories, and old memories.
Lastly the sea is like a big pot of paint brush water about to spill on the sand, leaving a blank canvas for the next day repeating this cycle for each day to come.
We can look at life how I have seen the beauty and the sorrow of the beach.
Each day can be like sand, a blank canvas.
Making new memories, going to sleep clears our canvas at the end each day for the next day that follows.
Leading us to live everyday as if it was the first and last, making as many memories as possible good, bad, and doing it again and again......
