I asked him to repeat himself three times, because every time he said “Coral Beach” I saw the color. Then he explained: rather than a beach made of sand, millions of tiny coral pieces had gathered to create this beach.
The sand there was a story of organisms that had lived long ago, a collection of memories. It was as if each had been a tiny star in the water that had lived and burned and blinked out. This is what was left.
And I found myself sitting there for hours, reading, staring at the small islands farther out, feeling the history and the serenity of this tiny corner of the world.
{photos of Coral Beach, Isle of Skye, Scotland; taken by me}
