“SHE BLOGGED WITH HER THUMB…..AND WROTE UP A PLUM…!”
Seabirds screamed overhead before diving into Pavilion Beach’s gentle waves. Tide pools reflected the sky. Surrounding sand was cold and muddy, squashing between my toes. A salty wind scrubbed my skin raw.
The Ipswich beach was not crowded, but on one side, a sausage dog sniffed my feet and looks askance. On the other side, college students discussed under-studying and over-drinking, their laughter louder than the waves. Across the Sound, Plum Island’s sands gleamed whiter than wishes. I daydreamed about solitude over there: just my family, the seabirds and the sunshine, sea winds blowing my cares away.
I looked down at the ripples left by the tides. Overlaid were footprints of people who had arrived, gazed at the same sights as me, and then departed. They left these traces of life behind: bare feet, shod feet, children’s feet, bird feet. I added my footprints to the chaos left by other beach…
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