The Beach

I step onto the hot golden-colored sand which burns my bare feet. As I run down to the water’s edge I can feel the minuscule grains of sand sliding between my toes while the wind ruffles my hair. The ocean water is freezing on my skin, but it feels good after my encounter with the sand. As the bubbling water rushes back and forth against my calves I look out onto the ocean ahead of me. Since I’m at a beach up north the water is dark so you can’t see to the bottom.

The medium-size waves in front of me pound unforgivingly down against people who have their backs turned to them. Children ride the waves on boogie boards; staring at the water running underneath their boards which, in less then seconds, end up finding its way through the tiny holes between their toes. Others are floating on their backs far out where the waves won’t pound on their bodies. A few people swim back and forth getting in exercise they wouldn’t be able to do in the week during their busy schedule. After I take note of them, I see a couple brave people body-surfing on the waves, willing to take a bathing suit full of unwanted sand home with them just for an ounce of the fun you can have at the beach.

Far out at sea, I spot, what look like, a bunch of sailboats and even further out; a frater. Then, overhead, I hear the wild call of a seagull. I turn around to see it flying in circles around a vender. Its wings are white and its underbelly is gray. The very tip of its beak has red on it, probably from someone’s ketchuped French fries. The rest of its beak is orange, like the sun.

The vender underneath it is selling ice cream. On the front of the vender there are posters advertising the different goods they have. As I take my feet out of the refreshing water to go back to my chair, I see little children digging holes and making sand castles. I have to sprint in and out of people because there are clusters of them walking on the shoreline. When I sit down in my chair I can smell the French fries, hot dogs and hamburgers being sold at different venders; it makes me want to get something to eat myself.

So I get up from my chair with a few dollars in hand and walk to a vender selling hot dogs. I wait in line patiently with all the other beach patrons hopping from one foot to the other. The sand is too hot and standing on both feet for too long burns them. When it is finally my turn, I give my order and almost at once I’m given a steaming hot dog. I pay the person and put some ketchup on the dog.

Once my condiments are on, I make my way back towards my chair, taking bites along the way. The hot dog melts in my mouth and I chew greedily. I savor every bit, thinking that I won’t have this treat once September rolls around. Here, at the beach, the hot dog tastes extra good because the salty air around me adds the secret ingredient that makes it just right. When I finish the hot dog I sit back in my chair and relax.

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