The ocean moves like a thousand gemstones in the afternoon sun, waves lapping gently at the shore like liquid diamonds. 

Languorous clouds drift through asultry cobalt sky as the cicadas begin their symphony, their chorus laced with the sound of children calling out to one another, and the murmur of beachgoers coming and going. A gentle breeze stirs yesterday's beach towels hanging from a balcony, already dry from the day’s warmth. The shape of time feels different here. 

It’s in the magnificent beauty of the natural world, but it’s also in the little things, too. Delicate cracks in mosaic tiles that are older than you, warmed by the sun over countless lifetimes. The gentle whir of a ceiling fan. The first, and second, and third sip of espresso in the morning before heat seeps into the day. When doing nothing is doing something. 

Everything is weathered; from salt water or time. Every stone, every tile, everything you see has a history. It tells a story. And so do you.