It was the kind of day that the sand was cold - but not cold enough to deter you from going barefoot. He didn't care if it was still March - the sand was that perfect texture. The wind had sucked the moisture from it and fluffed it as it swept across the the dunes - held together by the long, elderly roots of the grass which swayed on top.

The sand was the perfect consistency - the kind that if you were to run, your feet wouldn't stick, but would skid and slide, almost "squeak."

He may have been alone, but he was enjoying himself. Work had kept him from the beach for some time. Stuck in an office, looking over papers, faxes, answering phones. He was miserable - to the point where he learned to accept it - take it as part of his own life.

It wasn't until this weekend that he realized how much he missed the outdoors, when he got in his car for no reason, with no plan, and just drove - ending up at the shore.

He had expected some storm clouds, but none were in the sky as far as he could see. Light puffs were all the frequented the vibrant blue. No rain, no storms, not even any real wind - just the simple exhausted gust every now and then.

Without realizing it, he found himself looking in a tide pool that had collected a quarter of the way up the beach. He eyes scanned for movement - but he couldn't see anything.

He wasn't disappointed at the vacancy of the pool - but instead he smiled.

The memories of his summers on the shore had flooded his mind as he saw his reflection in the ripples of the water.