Walking down the splinter full wood
on the soft shimmery sand,
seeing the ice cold water crash upon
giant concrete structures,
picturing the creation of sand dunes from these large metal pipes
that have come out of the depths of the sea,
stepping on sand spurs that pierce through
the first layer of the skin of my bare feet.
It is a bright morning even though fog surrounds us
blanketing the distance,
you can still clearly see the "perfect" white sand
with the mixture of black and browns,
the rusty browns, reds, and golds of the pipes,
the complimentary blues of the ocean with the sky,
yes the color is still there.
You hear the typical rhythmic crashing of the waves,
mixed with the generator buzzing from the condos,
mixed with the roaring of the bus engine,
mixed with the passionate car radio,
mixed with the tour guides voice,
mixed with the sh-ing of the teachers around,
mixed with the screeching of the birds,
but mainly you hear the waves.
Many wonderings go through my head while I'm there,
Could all of Tybee sink?
What kind of fish swim in these waters?
How many turtles lay their eggs on these beaches?

But still I feel,
Hyped up on the caffeine I had had,
Energetic and antsy from being able to get off that monster of a bus,
Concern from the leaking fluid coming out of an old battery and onto my hand,
Refreshed from the crisp air that I could feel fill up my lungs,
And over all happy and full of joy that I had to experience this.
The one thing flowing through my head and the water flowed over my feet,
You're Free,
You're Free,
You're Free.