Displayed in a geometric pattern, coloured head-hats hint that we have arrived at some tourist enclave where local head-gear may be essential.  The evening cloud obscured the sun and the drizzle splatters grazing the taught skin created a natural sunscreen.  The hat display was soon scrolled away like a holy book.  Images of promise hidden like words in disbelief. The pink one was outstanding!

On the strand a game of beach volleyball was played heads only.  Four shinning domes directing a volleyball across a net with a polished precision.  Here and there a point but the game of heads-up like our landing bridged the sky with promise.

On the directional marker the multi-coloured arrows point away from the water with team and link names promising a connection in community.  Look there!  The newly weds and the nearly deads merge their roots in the worn sands.  Not warm sands today.  The foot prints will be leveled by the waxing and waning tides.  Then out of the skies heads roll like candy down an isle.  Along the walkways and bikeways life bounces and dances to rhythms and horns.  The metronome of every passing cadence trains eyes on skies and there, at the end of the road, at the end of the beach, at the end of traffic a monument, a monumental stone, emerges without landing gear from the forever cloud banks announcing tomorrow. Announcing rest!