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اَلسَّلَامُ عَلَيْكُمْ وَرَحْمَةُ اللهِ وَبَرَكَا تُهُ

The date: 

Monday the 19th

The sights:

Dark sea on my right. Buildings and lights to my left (way too noisy for my liking). In front, a straight long stretch as far as my eyes can see. Then a bend on the beach. Further down, nothing I can make out even with the bright moonlight. So I went in that direction - away from the city-noise towards the nature-noise. Away we go.

The sounds:

Loud music drowning slowly in the sounds of white caps crashing. Now and then: the occasional giggle of drunken couples merging into shadows. Some time after, just the steady beat of oceanic music.

The sensation:

Peace. Calm. Indifference. The sand was smooth. Where it was still wet, it clung to my toes.

The night sky:

I counted 61 stars at least. Most bright. Some dim. All from light-years away. But I can't really tell because I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Why, you may ask? Because, on more than one occasion, I see stars in the waters, on sand, and even my palms. But we can be sure there were at least 61 that night.

The lights on the horizon:

Blue and red.

The numbers:

The blues: two, slow & shifting. The reds: 6 rapidly blinking; 1 unchanging. Another was a unique blend of both colours.

The other sounds:

**Room at the End of the World**Drop To Hold You**Buses & Trains**Falling Not Flying**A Lack of Color**Stay Close, Don't Go**My Boy Builds Coffins**A Comet Appears**Keep Faith**They Bring Me To You**Somebody That I Used To Know**Vegetable Car**Take Your Time**

The drift:
At one point, I cease to be. I was not awake but nor was I asleep. Sort of in a limbo. I heard the music, I tasted the salty air, I felt the silken sand, I saw the lights - both natural and man-made - but all those and more I did from outside; as if viewing myself from a distance. From another man's point of view, if you'd like.

The change:
The waves moved farther away from the stone-strewn shores. The lights-of-man shut itself off one by one, while the lights-of-sky multiplied. People got tired and left for bed. The shops closed their doors and I was vaguely aware of how alone I was on that beach. The biting air was getting too cold. So, I forced myself into my body.

The last walk:
It was chilly. The receding tide and the lack of other lifeforms made the space three times as large. And it was in that huge expense of land that I walked, under the watchful eye of the full moon - obscured as it was behind toiling clouds - to my humble abode. The land now had a silvery sheen to it, and after the bend on the path and a few hundred steps, I made it.

The parting of ways:
Without any delays, fatigue took over and sleep came easy. The misty night air says bye bye at door number 9.

The after-image:
A deserted beach. A full moon. 61 or so stars. Billions of sand particles. Two sets of footprints - one going, the other coming back. On a backdrop of island outcropping. All in all, a beautifully ghostly scene fit for a fairth.