The waves seem to be practicing their choreography for an audience of seagulls.

From the lookout above, the beach stretched like an endless ribbon of gold bordered by a restless blue sea. The waves rolled in rhythmic succession, their white crests dissolving into frothy whispers along the shore. A few figures dotted the sand below—tiny reminders of human presence in a landscape that seemed otherwise untouched. The air was thick with the scent of salt and damp earth carried by a breeze that hinted at distant storms. I watched as footprints appeared and disappeared with each ebb and flow of the tide. It felt as though time itself was being measured in those fleeting impressions left behind on the sand.