There are very few things better for my writer’s soul than a day spent wandering the shoals and coves of some far distant water. The sound of the crashing water, the wind in the trees and the sun on my face (not too warm thank you) makes we wax philosophical.

I spent a large portion of my time on the beach watching the stories of other people. The couple being goaded into dozens of photos by their photographer, the vaguely chinese looking family who was speaking (I swear) something Icelandic, and the tall thin man and woman who were dressed for the water and carrying a surfboard. Every story that day intersected mine for a moment. The connection was there, transient and ephemeral.

I think that life is often a day at the beach, and after… well, who can say?

Maybe after, we find ourselves at home, staring at the images and remembering with a sad smile. Sad because like the connection to the people whose lives I intersected, it was ephemeral and thus all the more precious.