When you are granted access to an otherwise forbidden area where only but a few get to enter twice a year, you go for it. My host told me it was nice, but more than that, it was a magical place. I remember standing on that deserted beach, feeling marooned as the wind sandblasted me relentlessly, enveloping me in its maddening embrace.

The waves crashing against the shore drowned out everything else around me. In the distance, I watched a single oystercatcher energetically playing a never-ending game of tag: you are it with the waves. A barge, which belonged to a long-gone mining venture, now serves as a resting stop for the Comerants. The sun was beating relentlessly, intensifying the feeling of being lost in a vast expanse of dunes and water, with only my thoughts for company. I guess that is what solitude is: you alone with your thoughts, everyday worries left far behind, is just you and the now.

My thoughts turned to the Gulls lurking about the dunes as if waiting for me to surrender to the elements so they could feast on my carcass. Further down the shore, a colony of Pelicans vaguely acknowledged me as I came near. Why would they, it’s their shore; I was just there being alone.

It was a great experience; I would return to that beach in an instant. I am not sure that man is the only being who knows he is alone. Perhaps we are the only ones who seek it, and for good reason: solitude is good for the troubled soul. Lonelyness, though, is a whole other story.