I spotted a crow eating what I thought was a jellyfish at the shoreline. Eager to see more, I sprinted a couple hundred feet to the glistening black bird and its catch. The sand was amenable to my hard, fast paces and the water at the ocean’s edge clang and broke against my calves. I stopped a few dozen feet from the crow, not wanting to disturb it, by pushing my legs into the softer, dry sand, using it as nature’s cushion. The sand warmed my feet and I stuck out my arms to find balance in the uneven sand. I remember thinking, “So this is how a human comes in for a landing” and smiling. As I drew closer to the crow, I became quite happily overwhelmed with heavy breathing and a hot face, so I walked to the ocean’s edge and waited for a wave large enough to fill my hands. The periodicity of the waves and their crashing was a lull. When I splashed my face with the brisk water, my eyes were closed and my mouth was gaping, drawing in mouthfuls of air after the sprint. The water dripped into my mouth. It tasted salty, like sweat, and I didn’t mind it at all. When I stood up, the wind cooled my cheeks. I faced the ocean expanse. I had forgotten about the bird.