When I was young at Port Stanley

When I was young at the beach, after setting up the colourful towels and umbrella on the fine sand, I ran under the sun to go see the shining, clear, blue water once again. On the shore, I felt the bumpy rocks under my feet, and scanned them to find the most shiny and colourful ones to add to my collection. Pebbles in hand, I breathed in the smell of the beach, heard the sound of the crashing waves and the other kids laughing in the background, and stared at the vast expanse of the ocean, glistening like the brightest blue gems. I always wondered how far it stretched out, and what its waters held.

When I was young at the beach, I built sand castles with my brother, tracing little moats around them with my finger, disappointed when the water I brought would always get soaked up by the sand. Whenever my friends or cousins came along, water gun fights were inevitable. I remember trying to avoid splashes and all of us running back to the shore to reload our guns like our lives depended on it. It was always fun when I was the champion of the round, as I chased the others away, laughing as I ran, whether we were on the hot sand or in the water.

When I was young at the beach, I hesitantly dipped my toes in the water, cold in comparison to the hot sun I felt on my skin, before walking in. With every step, the wetness reached up to my knees, then my waist, and finally to my neck. Considering my height, that never took too long.

I remember floating on my back in the water as if I were a starfish, and closing my eyes to let the waves gently take me elsewhere. It was always the best part of the seemingly anti-gravity experience.
When I was young at the beach, I sat down on a towel in between my family and friends, with a rumbling stomach. While I waited to eat some delicious food, I watched serenely as the waves pushed forward and pulled back from the shore. Slightly wet from the splashing of water, I scarfed down the meals and enjoyed some drinks, which made me feel refreshed and full after about an hour or two of playing and swimming. I eventually noticed the seagulls, who were waddling towards us curiously, clearly attracted by our snacks. Feeling bad for them, I always threw the brightly-coloured birds some of our chips, crackers, or pieces of bread. No one told me I wasn’t supposed to feed them.

At the beach, the sun began to set, causing a bright orange to bleed into the sky along with the disappearing pale blue. I remember being wrapped in a towel, my sandals filled with sand, devastated to leave the place where I had experiences unlike any other. As we packed our bags and took down our umbrella, I always made sure that I brought the special rocks from the shore. I put my hand in my pocket and felt the smooth, bumpy, and familiar shapes. Once I went back home, they would be reminders of the things I felt, ate, and did at one of my favourite places to be.