Black sand

When I was little, I used to only like really white sand. I was used to it. Any speck of black or brown was frowned upon as dirty. Rain used to be bad. We had to run from it.

The other day I went to Tamarin. It was cloudy and raining slightly. In Tamarin the sand is black. I think it comes from the dirt, but for some reason, it was not repulsive. It felt wonderful feeling the grains through my toes, watching my feet get dark under the sand, then be washed by the waves as they raced to the beach. The clouds looked as if they might burst any minute in a futile attempt to flood the sea.

There was an expectant dampness in the air, and a magic moment of complete peace.