Even the rocks here seem to have more social lives than I do.

The painted rocks seemed to stretch endlessly along the path, each one a small rebellion against monotony. A rainbow arched across one stone while another bore a bold blue square that left me pondering its meaning. Nearby, a name—Hazel Rose Kirkbride—stood out like a signature on this open-air gallery. The sea whispered softly to the shore as if it were in on the secret of these creations. A group of walkers passed by, their chatter blending with the sound of rustling pine branches. It felt like I was witnessing not just art but fragments of lives left behind in color and form.