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The pale sand stretches out to meet the sea. Wet patches shine as mirrors to the sky above, while pools form around the rocks. Endless motion from the beginning of time has created our beaches, these most perfect of places. The sand made from the shells of billions of once-living creatures, now remembered and appreciated for their new beauty. Waves are never-ceasing, gentle white horses leading the way onto the shore, with the seas turquoise behind. The sound is constant: the to and fro of volumes of water incredibly relaxing to the ear. This is the reality of the shore-side of South Uist. The warm April sun creates a heat pocket on the sheltered sand. Dry areas radiating warmth, perfect for bare feet. Tracks of gulls lead off into the distance, my own tracks beside. There's nothing so immediate as eternity. The feet long to be free, the limbs to dance; so dance we do. Arms wide and all-embracing, legs scissor-kicking their enjoyment. Cartwheels the form of ultimate joy. The movement is freeing, although a steady eye is kept on the couple walking further down the beach. At these moments in time, anything seems possible. It seems hopeful that a new world will emerge from these ashes: that we'll be more compassionate, more in tune with the world around us. But memory of the negative abilities of our society lingers and the knowledge is that even if that new world never comes, life will prevail. With or without humanity. 
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