A girl of twelve went to the opposite side of the island to visit her grandparents. It was always a fun visit. One could often do as one pleased. They fed her. Sometimes, she would help with a boat cleaning or breakfast.
The place was also in a less developed area and had quiet ranges of beach to walk. She would have done so with a dog, but they had a cat.
However, conveniently, they were on an arm of civilization and so had a small store about a quarter mile away. So, she would bicycle. And there was time to read, to play board games, to talk.
On a subsequent morning, toward the latter part of her two weeks, she stepped out for another venture on the beach.
Having collected various small items over time, from shells to rocks to glass, and while sitting in the early sun, she began idly to arrange whatever items were at hand: a reed, a tree leaf, a wood chip. Then she ventured further afield recovering whatever material the sea washed up and arranging it in the image of a beach scene. She used whatever blue she could find, shells and wood, for the ocean, and gray and green for sky and sand. Seaweed did for trees.
Then it was time for breakfast.
The items had drawn down the sand incline by the next day, with troughs from water washed by the tide.
By the time she had gathered her things to go back to the other side of the island, the arrangement had separated, or dispersed, with some items partly buried in the sand.
And it was time to resume studies at school.