As I admired the giant oil painting that surrounded me, I took a deep breath, breathing in that lovely scent of the fresh country air, the ocean and the pebbles around my feet. I could hear the faint squawks of birds in the distance where they flew from treetop to treetop and then soared overhead, eye-balling the fish below. But the breathtaking scenery could not stop my thoughts from once again returning to my parents, and I felt a little pang of guilt. Guilt for enjoying myself.
Shivering, I stood up, intent on walking a little more to warm myself up. I continued along the same stretch, carefully climbing over gigantic pieces of driftwood, clueless as to how such immense logs of wood could find themselves washed up here. Where had they come from? Had they drifted for hundreds of miles,
