NOOSA



5.30am and the sun is beginning her ascent.  Glinting along the shore making the sand glitter and sparkle.

Slowly we descend the long flight of steps down to the beach, tasting the salt on our tongues and feeling the soft touch of gentle warmth on our backs.

Only the  sound of the rhythmic pounding of foamy snow-white surf is thundering onto the foreshore.

The huge granite outcrop displayed in a misty sea-spray with tiny foaming rivulets of water is chasing in and out of its giant stony toes.

Our footsteps join the cast of a million others who had gone before.

By noon the sand will be scorched and far too hot to walk upon.

Later, beachcombers will lose their footsteps the second they are made as the tide chases them back into oblivion.

We come upon the remains of a breathtaking sand sculpture: a magical fairy castle. We stoop to admire. Tiny steps leading up into pointed turrets. Small metal cups remain in the windows, where earlier, in the twilight, tiny candles had  flickered and danced, their flames licking the walls, casting
shadows up and down. The drawbridge has all but vanished, crumbling back into the white speckled sand that surrounds it.

We rest awhile, eyes looking out to sea, no words are needed between us, both knowing in our hearts what the other is thinking, willing time to stand still...

Suddenly, out of nowhere comes the barking of dogs as they chase the waves, and the moment is lost forever.