Those were the days

A semi heath wave, girls in skirts, legs the colour of winter. Men in denial, heavy coats hiding their sweating armpits. Huge fields of tulips are already in bloom somewhere in the west.
I wish I could take the car and drive to the coast. Days like these are for burying you feet underneath the sand. Penetrating the dry surface with ease, digging harder when hitting the wet solid layer. Listening to the sound of the waves crashing the beach, trying to reclaim land, pulling back in slow motion. Screaming seagulls and the laughter of a child carried away by the ever present breeze. Remembering how it used to be. Childhood vacations. A father, a mother, brothers and sisters. Endless days of playing in the shallow pools, trying to catch shrimp left behind by outgoing tide. Searching for special shells, thinking each one was more unique then the other. The taste of salt on your lips. Sand in your hair, ears and between your toes. Hide and seek in the dunes. Those were the days.
And here I am, typing away my nostalgia in the boss’s time while outside girls in skirts pass by, legs the colour of winter.