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I look around me. The sky is blue. Big, cotton-looking clouds lazily float through the sky. The sand softy moves as the wind ripples through. The smell of sunscreen and the salty ocean are hard to ignore. the beach is so beautiful.
The sun is hot on my body. My face is starting to get pink with the sun's heat. As the waves crash, I feel the need to swim in their cold waters. I run down to the ocean, racing my brother. The sand is hot.
We run over shells and bits of drift wood. It feels rough on my feet.
Soon, we are at the ocean. The salty smell of the ocean is hard to explain. All I can say is that it smells amazingly good.
The water foams as it reaches the cold, wet sand. I run in, and then I run back out. The blue green water is cold. It feels refreshing on my hot body, but shockingly so. It takes time to get used to.
As I finally get adjusted to the water, I run in, deeper and deeper. The waves get larger and larger, sometimes knocking me down. I dive into the refreshing waters and I feel cleansed. I laugh as the waves continue to knock me down. Now, I am soaked from head to toe. Sea gulls squawk in the skies, occasionally dipping their beaks into the water to pick up a wiggling fish.
I'll stay in the water for a long time, until my hands become wrinkly like prunes. Then I'll get out, dripping wet onto the beach.
Dogs run around the sand dunes. Children of all ages, big and small, build sandcastles with
shells, and seagull feathers found all over the beach. The shells are little treasures to children. They find them scattered on top of the hot sand, or burrowed in under it.
I enjoy looking for shells of all kinds, especially ones that are intact, but I don't mind picking up broken ones, if they look interesting in shape.
My dad passes the football to me as we run around on the hot sand, bits of it flying up and getting all over my wet legs and the rest of my body. I now look like sandman. We run and run until my brother and I get tired, and then, we rest on our towels placed on the sand.
After a few minutes of resting, I run down to the ocean again, and play in the waves.
When I get out of the water again, I walk alongside of my mom, dad, and brother, close to the white froth of the waves. My hair streams back gently in the wind. As I walk, the wet, soft, silky sand closes in on my feet. I don't want this moment to ever end. But it has to. I must go back home. I will come again, I know this for certain, because the ocean is waiting for me, calling for me. So I know I must come back soon.