there is joy in writing. words, beautiful words that flow and speak and resonate. i like words. i like the beach. the sand, hard and packed and wet near the water’s edge, soft and loose and clingy near the dunes. the sounds of the current coming in meeting the current going out and the crash somewhere just off shore. the rhythmic crash again and again and again. the sound of birds calling to each other as they fly overhead. the sound of people’s voices, kids playing, friends walking past. the feel of warm sun on my bare skin. the coolness of digging my feet into the under layers of sand. the movement of my chair settling into the sand as a rogue wave swirls around me. the feel of warm breezes on my face, blowing strands of hair loose. the shades of blue in front of me. blue sky, blue water, green water, white water. white clouds, gray clouds, gray water, white sand, brown sand, gray sand. gray shells, black shells, yellow and white shells, white shells. pink shells. the variety of people who love the beach too. little, big, young, old, small, large, wrinkled, smooth, brown, pink, tall, short. i can breathe at the beach. i can think at the beach. the beach holds possibilities, dreams, promises, hopes. a stronger me, a fitter me, a happier me. a happier me.