The Ever-Shifting Canvas

Where: The beach
When: Just after dawn
The players: a crab, a bird, the sand, the water, the sun, a shell

The beach is silent. The pale light of the early morning sun casts everything in soft, muted tones, not yet stripping them bare with the harsh light of day. The only sound heard is the mournful cry of a gull. A crab skitters haphazardly over the sand, busy with an errand only he knows. A gull pecks hopefully at the shells washed up by the tide, checking whether the sea has returned more than empty promises. The crab's trail, the bird and his tracks, the shells, the light, all come together in an early morning tableau. Unseen. Unspoiled. The water lapping quietly at its edge.

As the sun begins to climb higher, so too does the water. In the blink of an eye it will all be gone, erased by the rising tide, to be recreated again with the dawn. Each day a new painting on fresh canvas. The same, and yet vastly different.