Articles by Sima Goldman

Beach


beach

The sun beat down, feeling like steam rising from a boiling pot of water. The rotting seaweed emitted a rancid odor, and the crashing of the waves sounded like the roar of a frenzied crowd. When the waves collided with the shore, white foam appeared like the froth oozing from the jaws of a rabid dog. The grainy, coarse sand swallowed feet, and the gulls shrieked their war cries. Gusts of wind tried to steal the towels and umbrellas scattered on the sand. The beach is a terrifying, life-snatching nightmare.

The sun shone, feeling like a warm hug, and reflected crystals off the blue sea. The healthful salty air could be smelled for miles away. The crashing waves sounded like an exhilarated crowd, eager to be entertained. When the waves collided with the shore, white foam appeared, like frothy, beaten egg whites. The warm, fine sand enveloped feet and toy shovels, and the seagulls harmonized with each other. The wind created opportunities for “wind-blown hair” pictures by the ocean. The beach is a magnificent, revitalizing oasis.


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