When I recall my trips to the seaside, I remember the roar of the surf as it thundered onto the sand, the changing colours of the water, and the salty spray that washed onto the shore. Blue waters sparkled in the sunshine and seemed to go on forever, then meld into the sky. Waves washed onto the beach, leaving bubbles, white foam, and a darker line to mark its reach before it was pulled back into the sea. As the warm sand squished between my toes, I would wander along the shoreline, searching for treasures that had washed onto the beach, jumbled together: stones, mermaid tears, the shells of unknown creatures, and a myriad of bits and bobs.
My father would take me fishing in the early morning to catch our breakfast. Later in the day, I might read a good mystery, leaning against a large boulder that had absorbed the sun’s heat, or go splashing in the water for a cool respite.
