wooden planks, wet wood
wet sand, plastic mat, hot sand
walking to the beach
I walked out to the beach the other day.
My bare feet started on wooden planks with the thumb thumb thumb sound of feet on wood.
Further along, I came to the faucets for spraying sand off your feet when you are going the other way.
My bare feet felt the unsure slipperiness of wet wood.
Further along, the wet sand on the wooden deck stuck to me feet and there was the kind of a ‘give’ to my steps and the wet sand crunched under my feet.
Further along, I stepped on to the blue plastic beach mat that led out to the beach.
The plastic poked at my feet and the sand was loose on the plastic screen.
On to the sand.
White and soft.
Hot and hotter.
Footprints on footprints.
I could not pick out my trail if I looked back at the path behind me.
The loose hot sand changed to hot hard packed sand of the tidal beach.
It was hot on my feet.
Hot on my feet all the way.
Hot on my feet all the way down to the ocean.
As much as the experience of different tastes during a meal, the experience of different surfaces under my feet.
Taking that path.
To the beach.
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