There’s probably a name for it. It’s got to be called something. It’s like a swirling swishing sound. The sound of wind under the sea. Billions and billions of grains of sands colliding and pushing and being pulled by unexplainable quantities of sea water. The rolling continuous sound that goes up and then down, over and over again.
The fragrance from the shore has a name too. I’m sure of that. I can’t place my name on it. I breath the fresh salted air in. A gentle gust rides off the waves up the freshly – dampened sand and over the lighter drier plains of the beach. It makes the hairs on my body move ever so slightly. I feel it without seeing it. I’ve always loved the smells and feel of the seaside.
My mouth is moist from water. I needed to swig bottled fresh water. The gritty sand accidentally blown to my lips grinded away in a glassy sound. I sipped to quench my newfound thirst following the blast of salty unwelcome taste.
The clouds surrounding this bay are grey and slated. Like the dark blue grey of a mine. There’s a haze in the air. It’s not bright enough for sunglasses but equally not comfortable on the naked eye. The sea reflects green and blue in multiple shades but mostly those of dull. Each wave like a white horse folding in on itself, breaking the dull monotone.
Sandwiched between my toes is a thick kind of sand. Chunky yet fine. It covers the hundred metre beach sea to land. It spreads a good kilometre of this bay. I watch as piles dry and gently roll into a pit. The pits dug by children have washed away. Trenches by men have also gone. Peace has returned job this beach. Only the sound of waves and passing sandpipers.
Dongchong beach cost 20 yuan to enter. Today, in Guangdong Eastern flanks of Shenzhen city, I’m relaxed. It’s been worth the walk.