The orchestra plays, the orchestra that celebrates privilege. A man laughs, wearing a clown’s red nose, while children leap across the sand dunes.
The waves roll in and out as the sun sinks low, painting the whole landscape red.
Someone is dying. But before life slips away, he dances with the person he loves most.
They move awkwardly to the melody of a young man with dreadlocks who strums a guitar and sings an old John Sebastian song:
“And then all that I know I’ve learned, assuming my kid. And all my deepest worries must be true historical cartoons…”
They dance badly, but they know the sweetest moments in life are the ones we never had to learn.
Wherever you walk— between the forest and the shore— the air carries a mix of scents: salt, pine, grass, seaweed…
And when you feel like it, you can sit, or keep walking.
And you realize that simply being here, existing, is already a beautiful thing— even though tomorrow you’ll be gone.
J.S.
