Shells, coral, and smooth colorful rocks line the edge of the tide. I'm setting my mind on keeping dry, but the whistle of the waves is taunting me. I look down at my feet in the sand. My sandals are old, and the feet inside are dirty and stained from a day of work. Tired from a day of stressing. And worn from tasks of life. I look at them without averting my eyes. The warm water on the white sand becoming more and more attractive. . . Finally, off the sandals go, and I slowly meander to the water. Even here, so close to the shore, the water is a brilliant blue. It's laughter laps around my grimy toes.
Lunging and pulling, dancing and darting, the water slowly, oh so slowly coaxes me in. The water, cool at first, tingles and awakens my feet. I go deeper, letting my feet sink into the shifting sand. Back and forth. Back and forth. The pulling motion tugs at your very soul. Makes you want to plunge into the never ending current.
Turning to look behind, I notice that my footprints are slowly disappearing beneath the waves. The marks of my slow journey in are fading away. And urge tugs me within to go back and make new prints or even correct the old ones . . . But, just as quickly, the urge is calmed and quieted. I know where I'd rather be. It's not about how I got here, it's simply the fact that I'm here. That my feet are clean after the journey, and I'm in the waves again.
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