The sky became streaked with pink. The sun gave way to the moon and her beauty. As the sun faded, the tourists were no longer under her scrutiny. The sand grew empty as the tourists hobbled towards the street, cluttering the cul-de-sac. A sudden burst of noise gave way to the quiet street. The pounding waves were merely audible over the children protesting their bedtime. Parents sighed wearily and told their children the best of times would begin again tomorrow. A weird twinge of calmness overcame the anxious children.

The sudden silence was jarring. The tourists, lost in a sea of diapers and self doubt, fled the boardwalk for the warmth of their beds. The battered wooden benches were once again empty. A brisk breeze sent a chill down her spine as she headed towards the beach. The clatter of [tourists’ bike] pedals drifted throughout the quiet neighborhoods. Tired vacation goers became wary as the night dragged on. A slight breeze sent chills down the spines of those still outside. They became aware of the constant weeping of the ocean.

Morning time came around, as noted by the wide swath of blue of the sky. The steady and crashing sounds of the ocean could be heard by people all over the island. Tourists lay out on the beach, hoping to turn their milky white skin into a deep olive color. An array of shells covered the sand. Some appeared as translucent and pink in the sunlight. The distant white noise of the ocean never leaves the minds of avid beach goers.