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July on Windehurst
Once, there was an old man named Harold. He lived on a sunny island off the coast of hawaii, the population was 1070. In his particular city, everybody knew everybody. But, every few years, knew people would move in and the old would move out.
Every morning, Harold would walk the beach on the northern area of the island. From that side, you could oversee the entire island of Windehurst. This particular morning, Harold happened to see a young girl with flowing, curly blonde hair.
Harold was following his usual path when he came across her. He asked, “What is your name?” because he had never seen her previous to this early summer morning.
She replied, throwing a crab, “My name is June, what is yours?”
Curiously, he answered, “My name is Harold. What are you doing throwing crabs?”
June smiled lightly and glanced at him, quickly turning back to the rolling early tide, “I am saving them from those seagulls.”
Harold looked in the direction of her finger, and saw a huge flock of birds that were chewing through the tough shell of the tiny baby crabs. Every year, he would walk on this beach and annually see the babies being slowly pecked away, trying to make it to the water before the others. He had learned years ago that there was no use in trying to scare the birds away or save the tiny crabs, so helping them to the water was practically useless.
Harold looked at the girl pityingly explaining by saying “It won't make a difference if you throw one or two crabs in, ya know?”
To that, June looked at him, to the crabs, to the beige sand, then to the water, replying, “Yes, but”, she throws another crab in. “It might,” she throws another baby into the deep abyss, “-no, it will-” she throws another “-to these crabs that do make it in.”
With no words considered, Harold looked back at June with a furrowed brow, grabbed a crab, and threw it into the salty water.
And with that Harold had never looked at those crabs the same ever again, and he never would. With the sunshine gleaming down on her, June, for decades to come, would continue to throw the crabs into the water. Then, after nearly half a century of throwing those babies into the water and no grandchildren to teach new lessons to; she saw a young girl, with shining blonde hair. June smiled, never bored of her usual path on the beach, and asked “What is your name?”