I walk along the shore, grey clouds overhead full of anticipation for the moment of watery release.  A symphony of waves set the mood with a constant climatic background far greater in texture than any man made sound machine.  There is nothing I need do, be or accomplish, I just walk.  I am walking in the sand that lies between the grains slick from a wave that has just visited and those not touched by waves since the last storm.  It is the in-between sand that most draws my attention because of the variety it offers.  It is here that I find interesting sculptures of seaweed, shattered seashells, broken crab shells.  It is here that ragged stones and smooth pebbles meet.  What will I pick up, what in all this vast variety will I put into my pocket.  And in what distant day of another walk in another place will I reach into that pocket and find the jewel of a memory that will bring me back to the ease, the exhalation, the perfection of this moment, this day, this seemingly insignificant day upon an autumn beach?  This walk upon the beach is my memory – I can never tell what small shell or smooth rock my memory will pick up, put into the pocket of my mind as a precious treasured thing.