Five Senses Demo Response

I’m at Acadia National Park in Maine. I’m seven years old, and this is Christopher Beach. It’s covered with little pebbles, all white, black, or grey, and my feet are bare as I walk along the shore, holding my father’s hand. In the distance I can see my mother, reading a book under a big umbrella. She waves to me. It is a glorious day.
The happiness I feel is not diminished by the slight pain I feel in the soles of my feet. The stones are hot, but not sharp; they’ve been worn smooth by years of being moved around by the tide. I am wearing sunglasses that are borrowed from my dad, and they’re too large for me. They keep slipping off my nose. I can’t see my father’s face, though, because the sun is right above his head. I can feel he’s smiling at me, though. It’s a memory I have kept with me all my life ever since that day in the sunshine of youth.

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