Boardwalk

It's the sounds that strike you first: the highs of the gulls cawing in casual argument amongst themselves; the distant cheering and laughs of the children playing amongst the sands, sprinting and diving and digging; the gentle creaks of the boardwalk, coupled with an almost imperceptible sway as the rhythmic ocean swells effortlessly surge towards the golden sands of the shoreline, brushing across the years-old seaswept lumber; the sibilant exhalation of the swell as it foamily reaches, reaches, reaches out as far up the sandy expanse as it can, the ocean's constant roar, as if of applause in self-congratulation, as it folds back into itself, ready for another effort; Or is that sibilance rather a sizzle? Wafts of hot charcoal and caramelisation wend their way into your mind; mixing with the cooling salinity of the swift sea breeze; floating scents of coconuts and sunscreen and fruit and the mild, earthy, salty pungency of seaweed drift, nearly stolen by the updrafts through the board