Bubbles on the Beach

I am on the beach.

The sand feels warm and inviting on my feet.

I love the “swish, swish” of the waves.
The pebbles are tumbled, soft clear white.
The seashells call to me to look at them.

A child is making a sand castle, with a red, metal pale.
Another child is blowing bubbles.
A single bubble floats by me.

I am happy.
I see myself in the bubble, happy, along with this whole beach, sky, and ocean, in that little bubble.
It floats away to carry my happiness beyond me.

Now, a rush of bubbles float by.
I am smiling. I am very happy.
Each bubble has not only me in it, but all the other bubbles of me too – hundreds, hundreds of beaches, hundreds of skies, hundreds of thousands of seashells, hundreds of suns.

A seagull comes near. I see it a hundred times over too, so inside the bubbles are alive.
I am beyond happy.
I see these little worlds of me everywhere, each holding hundreds of other worlds of me – of me happy – of me imbued with the beach.

Perhaps I am floating on the beach now too.