The Path to the Sea

A sandy trail winds through tall dune grass, whispering secrets to the wind. I follow it barefoot, the grains warm and fine beneath my feet. The distant sound of waves grows louder with each step.

Then, the dunes open to the sea. Endless blue. Foam curling onto wet sand. A single white sailboat drifts far on the horizon, barely moving.

I walk to the edge and sit, letting the waves touch my toes. The horizon stretches without question. The sky breathes.

Nothing interrupts this view—no chatter, no plans. Only the ongoing rhythm of sea and shore.

I watch for a long while, until the tide begins to turn. Then I rise, not because I must, but because the sea has already said what it came to say.