Echoes at the Tide's Edge

The world breathes between each wave, a gentle sigh against the grain of the shore. This place, where the water meets the land, feels like a canvas where nature leaves its mark, ephemeral yet profound.

In those moments, when the tide retreats, I find patterns—thoughts sketched in sand, little reminders of what once was. The ocean doesn’t care to save them; it erases everything with a relentless caress.

Standing here, the horizon stretches endlessly, a quiet promise of tomorrow. I jot down musings on the edge of time, observing the sun’s slow descent. It cradles all imperfections, turning ordinary scenes into ethereal visions.

With each visit, I witness the same play of light and shadow, a dance of echoes. The treat of solitude here is precious. Waves whisper secrets of the deep, secrets we’re never meant to know.

Steps traced in mud outline stories of visitors past, their footprints fading just like their echoes. We come, we leave, the tide continues—its rhythm unbroken, its cycle eternal.

Perhaps, like sand, we too write ourselves into existence, only to be carried away, bit by bit, by the tide of time.

Sand Stories
Interlude