Diary entry: On Beauty

I found the best part of the beach today, though it wasn’t what I expected. It wasn’t the sound of the waves crashing, or the feel of the sand between my toes, though those were beautiful in their own right.

It was something simpler, something almost hidden.

It was late afternoon, the sun beginning its slow descent. Most people had laid back soaking in the warm sun, others had left, but I stayed behind, drawn to the quiet that settled over the shore.

The tide had started to pull back, leaving pools of water scattered along the beach. In one of those pools, I noticed a small group of tiny crabs, darting in and out of the sand, unbothered by y the waves, carrying on with their lives as if the world wasn’t changing around them.

I sat there watching them for a while. The beach was emptying, and I enjoyed the sound of the sea and the wind, and these little crabs, living in their small universe. They reminded me of my fondness for rock ponds (I named my company after them).

There was something incredibly peaceful about it, something that felt like a secret the beach had been keeping all day.

It wasn’t the grand, sweeping views or the sunbathers that made this place special. It was this quiet, almost invisible moment of life, tucked away where only the patient could find it.

The best part of the beach wasn’t what I could see—it was the life eternal that I could feel in the stillness.