Shining Sands

The warm summer sunlight streaming softly in through the window of an old empty shop, 

touching the dust floating by, turning it into something magical.

Smells of barbecues burnt passing in the cool breeze.

Hundreds of footprints on the beach, peoples imprints to be washed away, an ever-changing beach, never the same.

As the sun set, turning the sky to gold, the smell of barbecues lingering in the warm evening air.

And the beach, a slate wiped clean for another day.


The dust, no longer lit, fades away, as if it had never existed.


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