It's nearly impossible to feel some of the sand that drifts through my fingers out there. When I look closely, I see the grains roam over the surface. When I place my hands deeper, reaching beneath the dryer surface sand I meet the cool firmer layer. I find I'm able to brush away the top easily leaving behind this darker solid layer.

It's as though the top has a certain character to it. Always shifting, roaming dancing with the wind. And beneath is a foundation of sand that has settled a bit more. That has made a place for itself keeping generations of former windy days locked away in its solemn pattern.

The sound of the sea, the feel of the wind and the comfort of the sand kept be enveloped in the living experience of being me and being there in that moment. My mind was not wandering to things that need doing or worries that need worrying.

I was right there letting my senses cast the roles in this play. I was mesmerized by it all. I'd clear away some of the sand until what was left was the darker harder stuff and then I'd punch it with my fist.
And I would feel the imprint left there. The way my knuckles sculpted and shaped the sand in that instant. Memory of that temporary but violent motion would stay for a short time. But an even greater force, one so strong yet unfelt will re-sculpt it as it has reshaped the world since before I ever was and will continue to do so ever after.

This impression, like all others, would drift away as the ocean and the wind re-claim their composure.

And I was there sitting ready to be swept away as well. Perhaps, I already was for between the sand and the sky I was content. There was only this experience and it was a nice one I thought. And no one, not even death himself, could take this from me. For if I were to die I would not be around to miss it. I would simply not be.

But the important fact is that I was, have been and will be.

And on that level of cognition I left my thoughts, because before long
the neocortex would soon spin its web of memories of associations of connotations of the experience and I would be left with the impure memory. The hollow vision kept living in the qualities of my neural net. A place this experience would live for as long as I need it. But while it wouldn't be the same it is important to take pause and consider that the whole experience would never have mattered without that network of cells and micro machines.

For I am content somewhere,
somewhere between the Earth, the Sea and my Mind.

As I will always be.