fresh sand

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We beached it today. Drove the fifteen minutes to our little slice of heaven. The sky gave an incredible performance - dressed in the colors of the rainbow from the horizon line to the clouds. Pinks and reds and blues and greens and even yellows. There was one other person on the beach. One. A man as scruffy as the sea weed and drift wood beached from the surf. He looked at us, smiled and threw his arms in the air and said, "Where is everyone??" They were anywhere but there, in the pocket of warmth, protected by the sand dunes and cloud cover. 

Our footsteps made marks on the fresh from high tide sand. We drew lines in the sand with a shovel to remind us where we'd been, in case we forgot. In case we got lost on the expanse of the familiar wave drenched land.

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