You are strolling on the sand, water slowly lapping at your side.
The night is dark and still, a new moon hangs idly above you, concealed in blackness by its renewing cycle.
A dense fog lazily rolls around your body, condensing droplets upon your shoulders and sleeves as you walk.
A faint sound of a distant machine working quietly fills the lower register, its tone synchronized with the gentle hum of the vast landscape between you.
You sense unrest, but it is tired and sleepy. The kind of restlessness implicit of a long journey. Not a cause of distress, but as if the energy of it’s labours go unexpressed.
With each step, the sand bitterly migrates around your soles, as if to avoid being crushed.
There is no one else here. Not a living thing within your scope or sense.
The beach extends for miles, gracefully ascending inland into smooth undulations that could easily be grassy hills.
The air is laden with salt so heavy, each breath includes a slight tingle, enough to overwhelm the sharp chill that accompanies it.
You inhale deeply, and your cough echoes along the dulcet tide.
As you turn away from the hilled silhouettes and face the ocean, a calmness envelopes you.
Like entering a lukewarm bath, the calm radiates from your temple, and slowly courses down your body, clenching your toes as it exits into the ground.
Lapping against your knees, the water’s icey grasp welcomes your venture.
You tread lightly at first, but smooth ripples afoot encourage you to remove your shoes, followed shortly by your other clothing.
Naked, you turn once more to gaze towards the once-invisible hills to see their silhouettes glowing the faintest amber-gold, each ebb of light slightly stronger than the last.
Arms raised at your sides, you tread backwards slowly into the waves.
As you are consumed by the sea, the glowing continues, uninterrupted by your presence.
You smile, and take a final breath.
Holding it deeply in your chest, you close your eyes.