Finding a treasure chest of nature's jewels strewn in the sand on the beach. Seashells of the tiniest size like glass beads from a necklace created by animals of shellfish that make the shell its home. Fumbling the seashells delicately in the palm of my hands, between each fingertip, feeling its sensitivity, its capacity to be crushed under a weight, as it relies on my mercy to throw it back into the sea unharmed, intact. Sand grains to be brushed off as they stick like with static magnetic force onto my feet after squeezing the sand between my toes after a stroll amongst the waves of the lake.
Listening for sounds of the sea as each wave comes in unison repetitiveness rolling one after the other onto the small smooth rocks that were carved by the water's creativeness, each rock different from the other--no rock identical to another, like humans they all keep a separate identity although are found together in masses and make up a hard ground that requires sandals to walk securely upon it so not to bruise the sensitive skin of a bare foot.
Knowing that another visit to the seashore will provide me with another experience to hear the music of the forthcoming foamy waves, and another moment to feel a seashell's tenderness, and another time to throw a rock into the water to watch it splash and drown never to uncover it again amidst the other rocks as it blends into the multitude like camouflage.
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