I savored the way the barely dried sand crackled under my feet and studied the footprints that came before me. I wondered what made their creators decide to come out, how long their mark would remain and if they'd see mine, wondering the same about my journey and my four-legged friend. I made up their histories, placing them in jobs that would warrant a Wednesday afternoon off. I saw a large piece of driftwood and briefly entertained the thought of a mermaid basking in the fog. I hummed songs that were stuck in my head over and over again and I thought about how different the whole day would've been had I brought a companion who could talk. Someone that could override the constant and bizarre flow of thoughts I was completely alone with. I wondered if I'd think back on the day with more fondness or if I'd just feel like my time with me had been impeded.
I wondered why people are so afraid of being alone and how quick they are to dismiss the idea of courting their own thoughts. I considered the times I had spent listening to another's stream of thoughts. I briefly remembered being in the company of a brain who's stream seemed to entwine perfectly with mine, but it had been too long. I could barely remember. I thought it was probably a nice feeling. I wondered if I'd feel it again.
Then Ziggy hastily jumped over a rock formation intersecting an incoming wave, her tail tucked between her legs to emphasize her distaste for cold, rushing water. I giggled and waited for the wave to retreat, but I waited too long. She was already jumping back over the rock of death to make sure I was coming with her. I pushed all the other thoughts out to make room for the complete gratitude I felt for this little sausage of a dog and focused on that feeling for the rest of the walk.