Dead Man Float

When I got to the beach it was hard to walk right. The rocky dirt road, about four or five miles worth, made it so my hands wouldn´t stop shaking. And it was hot. So hot I thought my plastic water bottle would melt if the water in it started boiling in the sun. But not long later the pains from a long bike ride blew away with the breeze from the deep blue ocean that sparkled like champagne does in long skinny glasses. The sharp green from the jungle inland stood out vibrantly against the shifting white and black sand that tumbled past my foot-trail as I walked toward the water. The tide was low and warm and the tide-pools cut through tall sticks placed evenly from the start of the beach than dissapeared into the ocean. And once in the water, the surge of cold currents passed beneath me while the occasional crash of small waves broke the calm of a dead man float, facing towards the sky, watching little white birds fly above and over me.