the sound of flip floppy thongs calmly crunching granules of sand and rock and the arching of feet over the circularity of these elephants, who in turn sit silently in the shallowness of transparent green. sickly sweet odours waft from the surrounding vegetation and i tell them to stop. they continue, untamed. and then my attention shifts to the overwhelming glittery beauty of the shell of some sort of bug, lying between two gigantic walls of rock, the simmetry and detail of tiny colours in its jewel like splendour, the armour of a fallen soldier. the thinness of the sand as it clumps together on my friend's feet, the greeness of bathers on faded beach towels, the chalky white remnants of cheap black and gold sunscreen. the evaporation of minute droplets of water to leave behind a salty dryness that repeats, on the skin, a similar pattern to that of calm water, an interweaving of lines of shadow and reflection, and rarefaction i think it may be called, when your feet seem slightly bigger in the water, seen at an angle. and there are silver bells again, of the microscopic variety, thousands of them filtering the air with a metallic sound thats almost unhearable, that merges and crystallyses with the laughter of children and the song of crickets.
and skin like a soft shell browning.