Legends of the golden sand

There's something magical about the golden sand near Flagler Beach. As I lay my head down each evening to sleep I can hear the sounds the ocean makes as it grows and recedes with the tides. As sleep takes me I can imagine how stories of sea monsters start with the swelling surf, the larger waves rise high above the water line and like a giant angry mouth the jagged dripping teeth take a bite out of the beach. Water shooting out the sides of the wave explode with an exhale reminiscent of a cannon report. As the night wanes, the furry changes from an explosive battle to a rolling rumble of thunder in retreat for yet another night. The moon sparkles on the surface shimmering like liquid scales on the monsters back. The angry exchange leaves evidence each morning of a battle lost with broken shards of shells and spikes of sea grass strewn through the dunes like bones from the sea monsters victims. During the day, it's a different story as people walk and jog the beach, sand between their toes. Fishermen wet their lines with the hopes of catching a Whiting or Blue. Wave and paddle borders enjoy the swells with little care of the potential hazards just below the surface that will rise again each evening after the sun sets.