Tel Aviv Sand
The coarse sand of the beach in Tel Aviv tended to stick to my clothes. Brushing it away, I looked down the beach; there were a few people asleep in the sand. It was fairly early in the morning, so I assumed they had stumbled there from whatever bar they closed down. The Mediterranean shone with the rising sun, and it danced before my eyes as the backdrop to my rumination on the time I had spent in Israel and Palestine. I was starkly aware that this was my final morning in this place, and I may never get an opportunity to return. The mosaic of people, sights, smells, tastes, feelings- I tried to recall it all. I wanted to make it stick indelibly in my mind, but I knew my efforts were futile. Pushing this from thought I tore into the still warm bread I purchased at the market. The sweetness, sesame seeds, and chewy but fluffy texture quieted my mind. As I sipped fresh juice, I thought of the vendors and the stands from which I purchased my breakfast. Even that slipped away, and all that was left was the taste of sesame and the glint of the water.