The Beach

Heaps of pink on bits of fabric, glistening in a glaze of sweat and partially rubbed in sunscreen, slothfully lie, soaking up ultraviolet rays. They toast themselves, hoping for an orange glow but more often than not only achieve a red burn. A rainbow of umbrellas, towels, boogie boards, and coolers is displayed amidst the pink masses. Their stomach aches from too much funnel cake and they have sand in every imaginable crevice, and yet they appear perfectly at peace. The salty air and beachy breeze lull them into a tranquil state. They are capable of only the most mindless activities such as eating, napping, and throwing a football or frisbee. Even reading is limited to the most unsophisticated of materials; if the book is too intellectually stimulating, it will most likely be abandoned in favor of a nap before long. There is something about the beach, perhaps its the constant crash of the waves or the heat radiating from the sand, or maybe just the sun beating down, that can relax anyone and everyone. It's quite beautiful, when one thinks about it. People abandon all modesty and adorn minuscule bits of fabric, indulging themselves with tasty snacks and leisurely naps. As opposed to other vacations, where there are constantly sights to see and reservations to be made, people come long and far to the beach to simply let go, for a little while at least.