Old Friends

Two piles of stones sit like old friends, stacked upon golden sand, the ashes and remnants of their fellows. Their conversation is silent, drowned out by the repeated, soothing and methodical crash of breaking waves as the tide rolls in and threatens their very existence.

The afternoon sun peeks occasionally through the haze, adding a fiery glow to the impossibly blue water light-years below and a deceptive heat to the harsh April air. Droves of tourists have come and gone, and the coast is alive with only the sound of the roaring sea and the random calls of a few passing gulls.

The tide edges closer, and the stones maintain their silent vigil, awaiting the fate that befalls us all.