Scene

In the first of the morning, after the night-long sighs of the sea's sweeping the beach is a virgin place where you walk slowly, knowing that your's is the only trail of footmarks down that shallow, shining slope. North and south the unmarked sand turns slowly with the curve of the continent, dazzling the eyes with whiteness, confounding the eyes with a miracle of cleanliness, baffling the little man on the beach who has carried with him all his life the incredible litter of cities, roads, rooms and unwashed places.