Wisp of Memory

Sun glaring down, barely muted by a pulled down hat. Wisps of hair escape and dance in the breeze off the water.  Sand nearly as bright as the sun, and as hot, yet somehow the heat does not penetrate or bother.

Thousands upon thousands of unfortunate souls lay beached, dying in the light.
Hundreds saved, returned to the cool wet dark by increasingly aching hands.  Each individual salved in the flow until locomotion returned, then turning to aid another, and another.

In the end, only a paltry percent were saved, and still it was a good day. Parched by salt air I have never felt more alive.


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