Carmel This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   Even in the middle of November, in this windy yet warm Carmel Beach, littered with seaweed and pebbles, even in the numbing 45 degrees, full of sodium water, people still roamed in bare feet.

When a wave crashed upon the shore, it created so much attention that everyone on the beach, except the three-month-old twins sleeping, looked up: the screaming toddler, the golden retriever, the seven-year-old building a castle, the camaradad filming his daughter eating sand, the Stanford graduate reading The Firm; they not only glanced up but saw the white foam spray into an exquisite yet peculiar sundial pattern. One could admire the beauty.

Even out on the point, a few big jutting boulders covered with barnacles, bird signatures and a sparse amount of grass, spectators stood gawking at the uniquely magnificent mountains of water. They also observed with excitement the surfers catching salty waves and riding on their long, fiberglass boards to shore.

I stayed a half a mile from this breathless sight at The Normandy Inn with my cousins. Every day we took a stroll down to the beach. I observed. I observed every precious moment, loving it.

Sitting in Mrs. Malone's English class I go back to Carmel Beach and, once again, I lick my salty lips and dive into the unforgettable blue ice. n


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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