Footprints (holiday)

I feel the rolling tumbling waves wash over me, not in the physical sense but in the mind, washing away the cobwebs and grime, of the last days, and weeks and months and years. I am glad we chose to come to this place, this beach. Harris, beautiful Harris.

The sand, the stones, the shells tumbling against one another, they are creating a new brightness to the beach, Clearing it of the murkiness.
Bringing life, movement and tranquility. I feel refreshed. We walk the uneven paths, a reminder of days gone by. Difficult days. The little mounds are covered by thick carpets of sand and grass, ready to cushion me if I fall. I look to the beach. It is empty, no footsteps showing in the damp sand. I listen to the quiet and distant sound of the waves.

I now revisit this picture postcard place in my mind. I return again and again to listen to the waves lapping the shore, to feel calmness, a peace. To feel the warm lush dense carpet under my feet. As I recall memories of this time I take pleasure in knowing my presence is known to the beach, this stretch of sand time. Even although the waves have washed over my footsteps, it remembers me, my steps, my thoughts, and my presence. I cast my memories to the beach.

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