May 23, 2008
By Meg Foster, Fairfield, ME


All around me I see the sparkling,
turquoise water,
glistening in the rays of sunshine
beating down on it.
The water is calm,
as if it’s just sitting there,
There are a few small ripples,
crawling towards the sandy shore.

The grainy sand is the color of wood,
and it’s soft,
like I’m sitting on a warm cloud.
The sand feels like it’s boiling
underneath my feet
as I walk on it.
Occasionally, I feel something sharp
jab into the bottom of my foot.

A seashell.
I pick it up and run my fingers over the
smooth, dry surface.
It is white, and spiraled.
An old, used home,
to be dwelled in again
by another snail.
I feel something crunch beneath me,
looking down,
I discover the dried seaweed.
Crispy and crunchy,
washed up onto the shore.

The sharp odor of the salt,
that had been sprinkled into the water
in the ocean,
fills my nose.

I hear the voices
of other children,
running around,
chasing the seagulls,
who are squeaking and squealing,
waiting for someone to give them
scraps of their lunch.

This is the place
where I can sit,
or lay there
on a soft, colorful towel,
listening to the world around me,
and think,
about anything,
and everything.

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