Chinese Beach

I do not pretend to pontificate about the death or the shortness of life, only now I remembered my father. Let’s see, in fact I remember my father very often, I mean I remembered a scene that we live a long time. It was summer, we were on a beach in Rota, I have not been there ever since, so I imagine that this wild beach at the foot of a cliff, there is nothing that I recognized. In recent months, Dropbox has been very successful. I can not say why, but that day we walked along the beach early, very early, just him, my brother and I, we crawl the shore algae discovered strange, peculiar or shells. His lungs filled with sea air, we went back and forth asking my father for this or that. For more information see this site: Dropbox.

The tide was low, so the bank was a veritable mine of treasures. Removed the sand to try to catch clams, husmeabamos in the holes that appeared to be collected to see if the wave pillabamos a knife … We looked at one side was the sea, which seemed endless, we looked at the other and a wall of stone and earth yellow by the roots sticking out, we had to tilt the neck backwards to see the tops of the trees that crowned. Suddenly, I remember, my father proposed to us what seemed like one of the best ideas I had heard. Something as simple as writing the year in the sand and fill the shape with small stones.

He wrote some numbers on the size of your foot and we were filling shells with small Chinese and the tide had left in the bank. When we were about to finish the job (my brother and I would start being a little tired of that), I realized that our work would disappear soon. “Dad, but as the tide, the Chinese will not be anything I said. “Sure, that’s what we do. I did not know why but when we left the beach I felt sad, unhappy, constantly turning his head to look at the number you never see, because in a short time would disintegrate, and it was safe. For the first time I met the certainty of final something, the impossibility of recovering something lost. 1979. That was the year that took the trip. A year and a half later my father died. To this day, today, I see how the years go and people, and learned the lesson that day I have only to apply the necessary time to remember that nothing will keep us here and that the work we do must be done with the greater delicacy, yet knowing that it will take the trip. That’s what we do.