It was the sudden nearness of thundering water - the loud explosive force of a wave hammering against sand- followed by the hiss of swirling, dispersing energy that told me I had been asleep.
The sound was insistent - urgent - and loud enough to rush past internal filters.
The pounding came again, and this time I felt the tremor in the sand beneath me. The internal mute button of my mind switched off and tumultuous sound flooded my ear canals. Kids shrieking, people laughing, intermittent shouts, the shrill of a whistle.
These sounds - the roar of water and the blend of hundreds of human voices - just minutes ago had me convinced I would never fall asleep.
Had it been only minutes ago? I lifted my head from the beach towel and saw the shadow cast by my umbrella had shifted nearly a full compass point.
How much time had actually passed? I started to push myself up from the towel - and found my arms and hands were too numb to complete the task. Rather than the softness of an over washed towel the only sensory experience provided by my fingertips was pins and needles.
Rolling lazily onto one side, I squinted at the blue sky overhead and smiled. A nap on the beach is like no other. There is no urgency to recover lost time, only the happy knowledge that there was time to be lost - and it was spent in the thrall of nature.
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