My Beach Essay, Research Paper

I & # 8217 ; m walking along the beach. It is non merely any beach, it is my beach. Of class non truly but I call it my beach, because every clip I am at this topographic point there is nil else but the beach and me. I & # 8217 ; m walking in the sand, barefoot. The salty H2O is cool, but non cold. With each measure I leave a footmark in the moisture, farinaceous sand. But it doesn & # 8217 ; t last for a long clip because the following moving ridge overflows it shortly, takes it off into the broad ocean. The air current is blowing my unfastened hair into my face. The odor of the ocean, the H2O and the seaweed mixes with the odor of the shampoo I washed my hair with this forenoon. I about run into a jogger who is coming towards me with his Walkman in his manus. I haven & # 8217 ; t seen him coming because I am walking backwards, watching the ruddy Sun droping swimmingly into the ocean. For a short minute I & # 8217 ; m inquiring what sort of music the jogger is listening to. I pretend it is the soundtrack of Titanic. I can hear it without any proficient equipment. I can hear it because it is in my bosom. There is the sad tune of the droping ship mixing with the sound of the moving ridges. A sea gull is shouting as if it wants to state, & # 8220 ; See, this is my beach. I live here. & # 8221 ; I look up to it and nod in understanding, possibly with a small spot of green-eyed monster that it is the sea gull and non me who lives at that place.

I feel a sudden hurting in my left pes. & # 8220 ; Aua! & # 8221 ; I say aloud with choler in my voice. I look down on the land to see what it wa

s and my choler is all of a sudden washed off like my footmarks behind me. The small thing that is lying in the sand, that ache my pes when I stepped on it, the same small thing brings now a smiling on my face. It is a shell, non bigger than my fingertip. I bend down to pick it up. It is full of sand and I wipe it off on my skirt. The exterior is non truly nice. It is black and green with white musca volitanss on it, lime or something. But when I turn it about, so I can see the beauty of it. It is a reflecting white, and sometimes, when you move it in the last visible radiation of the twenty-four hours, it changes its colour into a light pink or blue. I put the shell into my bag to all the other things I have taken off from my beach. I really have my ain small beach in my bag. There is sand and shells and even a little bottle of H2O, ocean-water.

I continue my walk along the H2O. It is acquiring dark now and the sky turns from a light ruddy to tap and so to gray. The Sun is gone. It left this topographic point full of peace, but it sent the Moon to guard over it. It has been fullmoon merely two darks ago and the Moon is still round and large. It is looking down on me now, smiling. I smile in return, happy to be here, happy to hold been able to state adieu to the Sun at my beach. I sigh and wrap my jacket tighter around me. Then I turn about. It is clip to travel back place. It is clip to state adieu to my beach. But I am non sad about it, because I know it will ever be at that place, waiting for me to return.