The sound of crying seagulls and ocean waves crashing on golden shores. The feeling of wet sand between your toes as you run along the beach where sand meets sea. It’s a picture-perfect scene, and a perfect vacation for everyone.
Everyone except me.
For me, this scene looks a bit different. Annoying, squawking seagulls land on the burning, grainy sand, finding whatever scraps they can. Enormous, daunting waves beat down on the shore, which is now wet like over-watered soil. Although many people come again and again to this ‘beautiful’ site, I believe that once you’ve seen a dead jellyfish, you’ve seen it all.
Frankly, I prefer a hole in the dirt. Surprising for a germaphobe who hates even a speck of dust on her jeans. Yet my perfect place would be at a fossil dig, using tiny brushes to push away seventy million years of dirt, uncovering our planet’s history.
Being a minor, I’m still required to stand as far away from the site as possible, no matter if I had enough knowledge to get down there and help the excavators or not. They probably think I’d break a bone down there.
The dinosaur’s, not mine.