The Beach

The ancient narrow wood plank bridge leads me and my boyfriend across the shallow green swamp to the waiting sands of Same, Ecuador. Shaking and wobbling with each step I take, the planks make me think I'm going to fall into the murky water below. My boyfriend follows closely behind me. Looking back every so often, I make sure he hasn't slipped off. In only a few minutes we reach the other side of the swamp safely.

We cross the only road in Same heading towards what we think is the beach. Unable to see any water because of the thick wall of trees and bushes blocking our view everywhere, we rely on the sound of the water to guide us. We can hear the whispered crash of the waves on the shore . . . very faint, but not too far away.

Children run past us while chasing a skinny grey dog. The dust from the dirt road flies up into the warm air as their little black feet hit the ground. Some of the children stop running so they can stare at us. They stand still in the faint cloud of dust, watching us cross the road to the beach.

Standing on the beach is a small cluster of huts not far from the dirt road. They all apeared the same, for the most part. Our hut stood there among them with its four narrow wooden legs embedded in the spotted grey sand fronted by the pulsating crashes of the ocean on the beach. The looming waves threaten the huts' survival with each eager advance up the shore.

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