The caves in between my toes fill will warm sand as I push my feet in, guiding the billions of tiny particles. I pick up some with my toes and release them into the playful clasp of the sea breeze. It’s like I’m making the air visible, colouring it with the ranges of light brown in the sand, able to see for a moment where exactly it is running to. I step closer to the seashore and bend down to pick up a clump of wet sand, darker than the dry bit. The grains are as clear as fine brown sugar, each one glistening with its own personal style. I’ve never seen the details of their rough edges before or felt as though I could name each one. But today every uniqueness stands out. The water that rushes over my toes and tickles my ankles is frothy like a badly-poured beer. The waves crash and mini tides on the edges of the water battle with each other, forming small, white mountains. I can see the ones that win, cascading over the weaker ones, that sink below them and stretch out to form the newest shoreline. A fish nibbles at my calf and I look down quickly enough to spot its pastel scales, so defined I could count them as they move with its body, decreasing and increasing in size. I swear I could see the fish smirk before it quickens the slashing of its tail and speeds off. I am consumed by the magnificence of my surroundings, noticing things I never have before. My swim in the ocean is so much more than just that, it is an indulgence in the sweet, purposeful existence of nature. As the sea shows off it’s strength before me, building a wave three times my size, I can see the crystals in the water being sucked upwards. The mountains, a gorgeous green pallet of trees like a full plate of steamed broccoli, disappear behind the wave as it becomes the focus of my world. Crash. The wave batters me about, pelting my limbs in all directions, and tugging at my swimsuit. I feel something scrape across my nose. Finally on the other side of the wave, I am unable to see any of the things I saw before, much like my previous sea bathing experiences. Something bright floats in front of me. I squint and lean my head in closer. It’s my glasses, broken in half. I had forgotten to take them off before I came into the sea like I always do.