Standing there with the camera, watching life through the view finder, always makes it feel less real.

And yet, I can smell the salt from the ocean, the dampness of the kelp and other things that have blended with the sand. The woody wetness of the driftwood is almost on my tongue as a taste more than a scent. I feel the give of the sand under my feet. I can hear the wind, the rolling sound of water, the birds calling. The laughter and chatter of other beachcombers.

And there she is, swinging her arms. The tide shuffles in over the sand, erasing marks she’s left, tickling her toes to make her shriek. She laughs then swings her arms forward, chasing it back out.

Is it me, or are the foamy bubbles the ocean’s way of giggling back, as it plays with the beach and everything along it?