As you lie down on the sand you feel the sand against your skin. It is dry and warm; it slowly molds against your skin. It is so vast yet so little. The wind blows and little particles manage to run up the little corners of your body. They follow your contours, as they settle on your skin waiting to be discovered.

The sun is above you. Your body casts a well-defined shadow that you follow with your eyes as you slowly move your arms. The shadow is so dark. You close your eyes and try to think of every grain of sand in toasted shades of brown or the darkest of blacks. Now you are in the most comfortable place. The sand invites you stay.

Every time you look into the sea you wonder the same thing: how is such continuity possible? You know there is an explanation but still, the mysticism of the movement is captivating. For once, you find pleasure in not knowing and answer, in the uncertainty of an open question.

It’s enigmatic and naïve but you embrace the contradiction. You always wanted to know everything, and now you refuse to acknowledge a fact for the sake of childlike pleasure. As you keep wondering, they come and go. Deep and foamy, that shade blue is always there but never the same – a comforting mystery.

As you touch the rough surface of the rocks with your fingertips, you’re amazed by their endurance. The solemnity, the weight. You take a few steps back and look again. You try to understand that their shape was not always the same.

Erosion has created corners and curves as if it modeled the softest clay. Organic change is a materialization of time, and time always leaves traces – shapes, rocks, bits and pieces that are often left and ignored in corners and depths. You choose to look for those remains and keep them close to you as a reminder of time’s most comforting power: healing.