Chapter 2, by Zak Cleman

I laid across the pebbled shore of Brighton, soaking in the sunlight and breathing in the crisp morning air. My hand gripped the rocks that were posed between my fingers and sifted through the granules until only a single smooth stone remained. I sat up and scanned out across the shore, closely watching the foamed waves surging back and forth into the ocean, and chased a thought that had consistently eluded my mind these past few weeks.

It's hard to put into words, but I'll do my best to describe it without going off onto too many tangents.

Since arriving in England, I think we've all been absolutely astounded by the age of the land about us. Streets made of cobble stones, narrow passages that owe their existence to the ancient decamanuses of Rome. Tube stations, where men and women burrowed into the ground for safety from the blitzkriegs. And the Tower of London, almost a thousand years in age! Stories of men and women who walked the streets and lived their lives seemed... well, just that,
 only stories.

Oxford, with its great halls and museums, once housed the greatest minds of recent history. Einstein's handwriting, Tolkien's favorite restaurant, and the spot where Haley saw his comet..  all these things happened right around me! And yet, I still can't fully wrap my mind around it...it all still seems so distant.

As these thoughts passed through my mind, I turned over the pebble that lay in my hand, and set it back down from where I'd raised it. I listened to the waves, surging back and forth on the beach, and felt the sun on my face. And then I caught it...


These waves, coming in and going out, how many times have they pressed against this shore? The pebble in my hand, how many years had it taken for that single rock to come to to rest below my palm? And how many miles will it travel when I'm gone. We really live our lives in a speck of time. A dash between dates. One day someone will look back at us and be amazed at the world we built.
So where do I fit into this grand scheme? Do I need to build a tower or form an equation to be remembered? Even if I did, would I be more than just a story to the ones that come after me? Not quite sure yet to do with this thing called life.
But I'm gathering clues.

[Feel like I should add this here. I really don't mean to be cheesy. sometimes my mind runs and I can't catch it. even if I had a headstart.
But when asked to blog about my experience abroad, I thought: pictures will always remain. thoughts tend to get lost in time. so here we are.]